


Skinwalkers

by SneekyKelepir



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Humor, Science Fiction, Supernatural Elements, Transformers as Humans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-24 11:11:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12011496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SneekyKelepir/pseuds/SneekyKelepir
Summary: (Takes after B.O.T.) The Combaticons are having difficulty adjusting as a newly formed gestalt. An unforeseen force has now transformed them into humans. Will they be able to work as a team and get their bodies back, or will they kill each other in the process?





	1. From the Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Ever have a story in your head that won't leave you alone? The plot replays and replays in your head during the day while you eat, drive, and work. The details slowly flesh out after each replay. It becomes incorporated in your head; you dream it's sequences like watching a film? It nags your mind and won't let your brain turn off and sleep? This is one of those stories. It's been in my head since 2010.
> 
> It's always fun to imagine the transformers universe characters as humans and what antics they would fall into in their new bodies. I've enjoyed reading many on fanfiction.net and some on here but I've never seen any centered around my favorite group, the combaticons. It first I thought my story was just a phase and would go away after a while or when someone posted a story of them becoming human. Still haven't found one and now this tale won't leave me alone, it gets louder.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own transformers, Onslaught, Swindle, Blastoff, Brawl, and Vortex...bummer.
> 
> Also some things I should clear up, I have this set after 'Aerial Assault' but they are in more modern times, I will also be making references to some of the comic books story arcs; and lastly my main view on this is that the combaticons did not know each other before Starscream freed them.
> 
> Dedicated To: My husband and brother-in-law, whom are my proof readers, editors, and who convinced me to get off my keister start writing again...with an electric stock prod.
> 
> Please enjoy!

He once caused misery, miracles, and mischief; he was once a villain, a hero, a trickster, a teacher, and despised by many. But above all else he had been known and remembered.

Yet, his teachings and lessons diminished in the souls of the people as his stories were not passed to the children, and they no longer saw him so they could listen. 'I can no longer reach the spirit of men by approaching them, how shall I communicate?’, he thought and pondered on his perch. He had once been able to approach man and if he couldn't do that he would enter their dreams, but due to their ever changing and increasingly stressful lifestyle, he could not break through their nightmares. His slanted eyes scanned the barren plains in the darkening twilight; they suddenly twinkled like the stars now appearing in the sky. He found his answer with the objects in the distance. 'If I can no longer communicate to or through man, then I must communicate to them through something that isn't man'.

\-------------------------------------------------------

"Remind me again, why the slag are we out in the middle of nowhere? Our base is in the middle of nowhere too, but why leave it to be in an even more barren wasteland!"

"Swindle," groaned Onslaught's voice further up the trail. "You're a blasted jeep; this terrain should be a piece of energon cake for you, transform and shut your vocalizer."

Trudging the smuggler continued across the trail left by his superior, his feet scrapped the dry landscape, dislodging gravel and stirring red dust. Vortex giggled close by, Swindle's footsteps quickened, as he trotted to join the group, rather than be left in the back with psycho chopper. "Hey Ons! Remind us why we're out here again?" shouted Vortex in the back; he had fallen behind on account of his new game, chasing sidewinders off cliffs.

"Seriously, can't you two remember simple orders," huffed Blastoff. "We are here to harvest rock basalt for construction around the base and to convert into heat insulator. Not to mention it will help with your mufflers."

"Then why not go to Hawaii! The slagging active volcanoes produce the fragging stuff every click, it's everywhere you step! The humans probably wouldn't even mind since it could burn the island up!" Swindle shouted at the top of his vocalizers.

The shuttle nodded down at him, "And Decepticon activity on a well known and populated island near the Autobots surely would not attract their attention either." He finished in a smug tone.

"Oh well then, if we needed processed basalt then why couldn't I just negotiate with my human connections?" The jeep was now starting to revert to his sly, charming self.

"Combaticons don't ask for help, we take. We just don't want to be caught taking."

"COME ON! You got to be kidding! We traveled all this way to the middle of nowhere so we don't get caught destroying the landscape in hopes no one would notice!" Swindle's tantrum returned in an explosion. "Yes Ons! Brilliant plan, just slagging brilliant! You drag me out to a flat desert plain away from the base or any form of civilization to collect a fragging rock that happens to be one of the most abundant one on the face of this whole mud ball of a planet! Right? Oh please correct me if I'm wrong because…."

His rant ran short to the sound of a blaster being fired, not aimed at him, but it still froze him in his tracks. "Shut up pipsqueak, I happen to like it out here." Brawl returned his attention to the mass of migrating tumbleweeds scurrying in the setting sun. "There's plenty of target practice out here, and these rolling things never give up, it's an army flocking. Just let them try to take me, puny little things."

"Slag it Brawl," groaned Blastoff, "Those things are not sentient, nor even alive! It's just a bunch of weeds!"

"But they're moving."

"It's the wind blowing them ignoramus!" The shuttle rubbed his temples, a processor ache neared. Reasoning with Brawl never worked, as the saying went, 'never argue with an idiot, they'd only bring you down to their level and beat you with experience', and Brawl was good at beatings.

"Brawl, look a lizard!" squawked Vortex. Blaster fire proceeded. "Armadillo!" More blaster fire filled the air. "One of those four horned deer thingies." The landscape now started to look like the crater covered surface moon. "OH car! Double score!"

Brawl now took careful aim, only to see a massive, navy colored hand grab his gun in a split second. "That is quite enough!" roared Onslaught. "Drawing human or Autobot attention does not happen to fall in my strategy!" His red visor glared brightly. "Understand!"

The tank had fallen back at the sudden outburst at the presence of 'death's' hand. "Sir."

"Good, now everyone move out, I would like to get there before the sun completely sets," the missile truck began to storm off violently up the trail but flinched for a millisec as a coyote darted across his path into a cluster of shrubs. The small troop regrouped and followed their leader like a pack of wolves, with an omega taking a little detour to cause mischief. A sidewinder happened to slither to a bush to shelter down for the night. One quick chase, no one would notice….

"Vortex if you fail to cease your sparkling and pointless games I will personally fire at you point blank in between your optics and ship you to Hook's clinic for repairs. Without turning off your pain sensors!" barked Onslaught's silhouette. Then again it was always good to follow orders every once in awhile.

\--------------------------------------------

"Owe, my aching feet" groaned Swindle.

"Tender foot," snapped Brawl.

"I heard that you trigger happy lunatic!" The jeep rose in defense, wearing a scowl.

"Want me to demonstrate that on you pipsqueak!"

"Yeah, sure, use your big barrel and 'bend over' since I'm too short to shoot while standing."

"Ooooh I love campfire conflicts!" Vortex giggled from his seat at their makeshift camp.

"You aren't worth the ammo; I'll just step on you!"

"Bring it on you bulking, empty tin can!"

Brawl darted from his seat, despite his size, and body slammed Swindle into the ground and continued the feud by twisting the yellow con's ankle.

Blastoff merely glanced at them from his post outside the campfire circle, while Vortex's cheers fueled the conflict. Best not jump in the fray and dirty his servos, and Onslaught would be back soon with more trees for the fire.

"Say 'I'm Megatron's fodder'."

"Scrap you! ARRRGGGGHHHHH!"

"Say 'I'm Megatron's cannon fodder', Swindle!" By now Swindle's ankle was starting to give way to a disturbing position and the metal screamed in protest; and, the two's dispute kept coming closer to the fire, threatening to extinguish it.

"BRAWL! CEASE!"

The warrior immediately scrabbled off the smaller con and flailed in an attempt to distance himself from the source of the command, kicking dust high in the air. All optics were locked onto Onslaught, except for Blastoff who wore disinterest in the current activities. Vortex had fallen backwards on the log he sat on; his feet poking over and his helm barely peered over it. Swindle merely laid in the dirt stunned.

The combaticon leader stomped into camp with an arm full of dead juniper trunks and unceremoniously dumped them in the fire. His gaze swept across the camp at each of his cadets. When it reached Brawl, the tank transformer retreated to the outer circle of their post. Swindle began to strain his arms for his foot and jerked it to its correct alignment but cowered further into the earth upon realizing that Onslaught towered next to him. Vortex laid back on the ground looking at the night sky, twiddling his fingers with his feet still propped up on the log. Blastoff received the stare last; he paid no mind to it, same old dance.

"I think," began Onslaught, "I should remind all of you exactly why we came here and why slacking off is prohibited!" He looked at Blastoff, "Report." The shuttle drew in his intakes, "Our position: N 36.940176 W-102.924511, altitude: 4,573, humidity 24%, weather: 88.6°F, climate: dry, population: rocks." He read off his internal computer.

"And….," Onslaught drew on.

"And what?" Droned Blastoff in a bored mood.

An indignant huff escaped the missile truck."And the site we happen to be standing on is a stretch of mesa made entirely of basalt. "

Vortex's hand shot above the log declaratively and he exclaimed, "You seem to draw a sense of grandeur or importance of this place. If I didn't know any better, this place sounds like a national land mark,"

"It is, what is your point Vortex?"

"Stealing a national landmark doesn't fall in the stealth category or wise decisions oh leader." Vortex's gaze quick diverted to the sky again after meeting Onslaught's optic band.

Onslaught's threatening posture reverted to an upright, regal manner, "I have taken that into consideration, I always do. However, this landmark isn't as well known as other landmarks or monuments. It's not even surrounded by cities or reside in a national park, and has few visitors, I will add. We are less likely to be caught here; however, that does not mean we can abandon stealth!" Onslaught's visor bounced back and forth to Brawl and Vortex.

"Aw Ons, let's just say we don't get all 'up tight' on this one and sit around the campfire telling jokes and singing." His gestalt mates could tell he wore a slag eating grin behind his battle mask.

The night sky twinkled with mischief but became marred in a nanoklik by Onslaught's form looming over him. "This isn't a game Vortex! Our past actions with Starscream and the stunt with changing Earth's orbit has left us out of Megatron's favor and the Decepticon fleet. We're lucky enough to have our own base in the desert and not have to stay underwater in the Nemesis.'

'However, the Constructicons cut corners and used inferior earth materials. The piping burst's whenever the temperature plummets and the structures crack from thermal differences. We need basalt for rock wool insulation. If we work quickly, no one will be alerted by our activity and we will reduce the rate of consumption of our energon storages. The less we use, the less dependent we are of headquarters for supplies. Does this make sense to any or you?!"

He scanned across the campfire circle. "If we wish to stay out from under Megatron's thumb we need to be less dependent of Decepticon headquarters, not like they would help us. In order to achieve this we need to work as a functioning team, not a squabbling band of misfits.

Vortex wagged a servo at his leader, "Take a second look, we are a bunch of misfits, you're the ringleader of inept misfits," he exclaimed. The amount of frags Onslaught had to give was running dangerously low and his fist tingled with the urge to connect with the chopper's face plate. Problem was the motherboard fragger would probably just giggle and like it.

"He's right you know," drawled Blastoff, dragging Onslaught's crosshairs from the youngest teammate. "We have nothing in common with each other, other than the insignia we wear. The Constructicons bond over their shared interest in construction; the Stunticons all enjoy unruly driving antics, and then there's us." He gestured to the motley group. "Products of a mutinous second-in-command assembling an army by grabbing the first personality components he could scrabble from a Decepticon detention center full of war criminals and tossed them in crude vehicle carcasses. From this, he expected them to function as an academy trained military unit despite their different backgrounds and temperament, only you and Brawl have had any military experience. There is nothing about us that indicates teamwork, Swindle even sold us to humans as scrap metal."

"Really Blastoff?! Gonna drag that into this, pick on the short guy? I'm greedy by nature but I learned my lesson," squawked the yellow jeep.

"Honestly that should have been common sense not to do that, I recharge with a LoJack now because of you" snorted the shuttle.

"Those are easy to remove if you know what you're doing," said Swindle.

Everyone but the jeep visibly flinched. "What? I learned my lesson, was just saying….."

"Well, if I'm drawing out your faults let me continue down the list." His optics pointed at each gestalt mate as he went. "Brawl is a trigger happy lunatic with no disregard for allies or his surroundings, the loudest trash heap I have ever met, and has a mental IQ of a bag of bricks. Even when we don't have any missions he can't find anything constructive around the base. He destroyed the shooting range with his explosions from his sonic cannons and a poorly designed bomb of his, and if I recall correctly, he is part of the reason why the base needs repairs."

The tank's arms shook as he seethed while rising from his seat. Blastoff ignored him.

"Psycho chopper," a hand acknowledging the feet on the log, "Shoots his mouth off just as much as Brawl fires his electron gun. He rarely follows orders, turns casual conversations into an interrogation session, and if he isn't dissecting for an interrogation he does it for the interest of seeing how things tick, giggling whilst doing it. He has no moral sense of right and wrong than a tire iron, the degenerate!"

The grey meche sat up to glare at the offender, his rotors twitching in irritation.

"Which brings me to you," now facing his commander, "always looking for the perfect strategy."

"I see nothing wrong with having that type of goal."

"Yes, it is when you are so detached of the mortality of your teammates that they function as nothing more than chess pieces on your board. We get sent out to the frontlines, you recline in your platinum tower giving orders to the point that it's just another game to you. The only time we ever see you in action is if your plan failed, and like a sparkling you take your frustration out on the enemy or when there are none, us. All you care about is your ego and reputation as a leader and contriver, your end goal is to have your name in history for these accomplishments, without being a real leader."

Blastoff's closing statement met sarcastic applause from Swindle. "Well said, but it's your turn now."

The purple meche scoffed, "Try if you must, I will give your inferior debate capabilities and derogatories a moment to speak."

"You're not perfect."

Blastoff boomed with laughter, "Is that the best you can do, I am living perfection. I can fly interstellar distances, hold myself in orbit which isn't flying but falling in a painfully slow, carefully controlled fall, withstand ionizing radiation in space, and the best sniper you have ever seen."

"And yet you're embarrassed by your form."

"Come again?"

Swindle produce a noise similar to clearing one's throat, "Let me quote the day Starscream revived us on the beach," he put the back of a hand against his forehead in a melodramatic doomed pose. "I wouldn't want to be seen by anyone I know in this getup."

Brawl and Vortex snickered loudly.

The shuttle snapped a retort, "I am autonomic perfection, ….my cybertronian form just supersedes my temporary form."

Vortex leaned over the log in-between his feet, "Ground control to Major Denial, you're the most fragile out of all of us. According to my pokes on your armor previously, your ceramic tiles crack easier than popping bubble wrap." The shuttle's gaze quickly shifted to inspect his armor, only to dart back at him with shaking fists. "You're so fragile that instead of physically fighting we use you as air support or, your personal favorite, the company bus."

Brawl joined, "Also didn't the humans just retire space shuttles? Not only are you fragile, technology wise you're obsolete." Everyone stared at Brawl. "What, I'm slow in the head, but I can keep up with current events and know some big words."

Blastoff sprung from his seat, "Take that back slag heap."

"Make me," the tank beckoned his servos.

The shuttle charged toward the green meche, only to trip as the yellow con had slammed into his leg. With him down on the ground, Swindle proceeded to twist Blastoff's leg by the knee. Brawl joined in the affair by delivering hard kicks and punches to Blastoff's head and shoulders. Blastoff managed a well aimed kick at Swindle's chest, breaking one of the con artist's compartments. Small electronic wares and trinkets belched from the cavity.

Onslaught groaned with a palm to his face. Walking to the ongoing scuffle he lifted his gun over head to break the quarrel. He heard the gun fire but found himself face in the dirt with a sharp pain in the back of his head. Stunned, he managed to watch Votex run from behind, waving one of his rotors in hand like a cutlass into the fray. With a swift swing Vortex slammed the rotor like a cricket paddle against Blastoff's side before mounting Brawl's back and waving it like a general on a mount charging into battle.

They were out of control, not even gunfire broke their dispute. The combaticon leader winced at his head wound; maybe it would be better to enforce order after they drained their energies. A sharp, loud howl pierced his audio receptors. The air filled with a thick electric energy, the ground trembled, and dust stirred in a whirl wind around their camp. The fighting ceased as meches attempted to physically block their audio ports or shuffle to the center of the camp from the walls of the whirl wind that were increasing speed.

The fire had extinguished, sending them into darkness. Onslaught's night vision goggles barely distinguished his team flailing on the ground in the fury of flying dirt. He launched from the ground to join them but his movements were sluggish as if time on his form had slowed. He slammed to his hands and knees as warning sensors appeared before his optics, alerting of vertigo. The wind increased and the howling became choppy and uneven, he could hear Swindle scream in its crescendo. He could barely make out their outlines now, amidst the chaos.

The electricity in the air now seemed to be directly attacking him, as if weaving under his armor in the endeavor of peeling it off. He gritted his dentia plates and tried to focus for signs of his team in the whirl of aerial earth. He blinked his optics in disbelief. Facing back, unaffected by the whirlwind of dirt, were a pair of bright glowing, yellow eyes. They bounced and squinted tauntingly as cackling ripped through the intolerable howling. A final warning flared through his system; then, everything went black.


	2. Down the Rabbit Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rude awakening.....
> 
> I don't own Onslaught, Blastoff, Brawl, Swindle, or Vortex, or the transformers universe.

A tapping on his forearm brought him out of recharge. Even with his optics offline, he was spatially aware that he was sprawled on his back with his arms half spread at his sides, and a slight ache in the back of his head. The last things he remembered, his team brawling, a howling whirlwind, and a pair of yellow glowing eyes. He saw the eyes crystal clear in his mind, everything else in his possessor swam in a flurry of disoriented thoughts.  
The tapping continued and migrated towards his shoulder. He attempted to lift his arm, it felt heavy and disobeyed; however, he had managed to flex his servos. Something was wrong, he felt the solid ground resist them but, he could feel more…… textures of small particles. His sensors wandered from his hands to the rest of him, he could feel something that draped and lightly clung around his torso and legs. A light pressure dug into his chest.  
And the incessant tapping continued. His annoyance spiked, slag it Vortex. He commanded his optics to online, only to be greeted by the ugliest creature sitting on top of him. Ebony feathers masked its body from the neck down; a red, naked fleshy cranium housing two black beady eyes and a long, hooked mouth that poked him.  
Onslaught yelped and made a right hook while flailing backwards from the thing. It was big enough to cover his chest. Startled by his outburst, the creature revealed its two wide wings and launched into the sky. Onslaught watched it soar upwards to join more of its kind lazily circling above him. The sun drifted high in the sky; how long had he been out?  
He sat on the outer rim of the camp, something familiar at least, but the pine trees seemed to tower over him. The center of the camp looked as if a bomb had detonated; tree shards littered the area, metal trinkets glittered in the sand, and four human forms lay sprawled in odd positions. Disgusting, how had they stumbled upon the camp, and why did it seem from his reclined position that he would be at eye level …. with …. them?  
Dear Primus…. He lifted a hand to his line of sight only to slap it to the ground; no, he was hallucinating. He lifted it again; the fingers flexed as he instructed. It was his alright, and it was covered in fleshy muscle! Reflexively he brought it to his crown in an attempt to concentrate; however, focusing proved more difficult as soft hair now replaced his helmet.  
He opted to keep his hands on the ground, unconsciously filtering sand through his fingers. ‘What in the Pit had happened?!’ There was no logical explanation for his body’s current state. Onslaught, the brilliant, towering, tactician reduced to a delicate functioning piece of meat. If he survived this, this would be one of the stories to omit from the history data pads he told himself as he flailed his hand to dispel the sticky sand now clinging to his palm.  
He rose with unsure steps, inspected his pedes and the material encompassing him. A dark teal, utility shirt garbed his torso; Propper ACU trousers covered his lower half and were tucked into a pair of steel toed combat boots. Grasping the cloth he tested the fabric’s strength between his hands. Seemed durable but nothing compared to his armor. He couldn’t help but shudder at his new detailed sense of touch. He kicked a rock to test the boot but immediately regretted the action. The boot withstood the impact, so did the rock, but something shifted in the footwear and caused a sharp stinging sensation in his pede. A wince and curse huffed from him.  
Fixating his gaze from the ground back to the camp circle at the other human life forms, a smidge of ease graced him. At least his troop had been changed as well; if they had retained their cybertronian bodies they’d probably just step on him and be glad to not follow his orders anymore. Or Vortex would vivisect him. The trace of ease quickly departed at that thought, best to not dwell on such things.  
With the absence of an explanation or solution to get their bodies back, the next crucial step would be to care for themselves and survive; that was a problem in itself. Any historical knowledge of humans, particularly military battles, Onslaught could enumerate as second nature. Aspects of the inhabitants themselves, well, he knew their thermal survival ranges and the time span they could function without subsistence.  
A frown plastered Onslaught’s features as he scanned his unconscious subordinates. No matter what happened, he could not give the impression of him losing control or not having a plan. He was their commander; their foundation. Time to rally the group and get moving; he marched to the center of the camp.

\--------------------------------------

Onslaught swiveled his head at the bodies surrounding him in deep debate. The large man by his feet sported a deep purple shirt like his, brown dress pants, and had dusty brown hair in an Ivy League cut. Blastoff, if he thought his shuttle form was bad he was in for a rude awakening. To his right a few yards, two more bodies lay sprawled, one adorning a green shirt and camo pants. Brawl lounged like a brick on his back, arms flayed overhead, and mouth slacked open. Short auburn hair tufted his head and the outline of his muscles defined his shirt. If Onslaught trained his ears from the whistling wind he could hear the former tank snore.  
A lean, young figure, sporting a grey T-shirt and ABUs, slumped over Brawl’s abdomen haphazardly like a sack of potatoes with his arms at his side. Messy short brown locks obscured the face planted in the ground, Vortex. By process of elimination meant Swindle was the figure sprawled to his left. He puzzled at the shortest man. In contrast to the others, Swindle’s skin was tanner and his hair shined black as the feathers of the creatures circling above. A thin pencil moustache trailed his upper lip.  
“Eh hem, ATTENTION!”  
Life and confusion buzzed about the camp. Swindle sprung to his feet, Brawl flailed from the ground, tossing Vortex’s lower half upwards. The former rotary’s arms scampered to catch himself, only to fail and have gravity dig his face deeper into the sand. Brawl and Swindle both stood at attention, not even glancing at their leader. Vortex sputtered and wheezed in an attempt to eject the debris from his mouth and nose as he rose from all fours, “Okay which one of you slaggers stole my battle mask and visor, as if I have to ask, Swindle.”  
Both men broke their bearing, one in curiosity and the other in anger, “Slag it Vortex, why do you always blame me, I’m not the only one capable of stealing things yooouuu……..kn.” The con artist choked on his last words while staring at the hacking human producing the interrogator’s voice.  
“What’s the matter Swindle, Ravage got your glossa,” Vortex’s Cheshire grin drooped to bewilderment after focusing on the human in the yellow business suit. Gingerly, he brought his trembling, twitching fingers to his intense gaze. Silently, he stared dead ahead at nothing as one hand reach behind his back to inspect between his shoulder blades. The rummaging soon became frantic in the absence of his target.  
“AAAIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Swindle you motherboard fragger, you traded our bodies for filthy human ones!” He inaudibly screeched while clenching fistfuls of hair. “Of all the ludicrous scrap you do, this is the worst! Where did my rotors go, give them back!”  
“Again blaming me! If I were guilty I certainly would not have traded my own in the process.” Anger now replaced his shock.  
“Oh of course you would, throw us off your trail so we wouldn’t suspect you.” He hunched in a fetal position softly whimpering, “I’m grounded, I’m grounded.”  
“Will you two simpletons shut it!” Shouted a rousing Blastoff. “It’s bad enough knowing I enter recharge around you, but having all of you for an alarm clock is out right.” As he rolled on his side to an upright position, the former shuttle’s gaze seemed adrift and a bit disoriented as he squinted at the squabbling cons.  
“Or the fact that you are no longer a shuttle but a human,” sneered Swindle.  
“Hilarious Swindle, you construct your own jokes now?”  
“Um no, stating fact. Are you blind, look at yourself; you’re hideous.”  
Squinting, Blastoff scrutinized his hands close to his face. The look in his eyes seemed lost and he visibly flinched at the sensation of his index finger tracing his other hand.  
“See, you’re even more useless now.”  
“Shut it,” the large man snapped, facing away from the group dejectedly.  
The verbal exchange between the con artist and sniper had drawn the interrogator from his flightless, existential crisis to join in inflicting psychological torment on the largest team member. With the two youngest Decepticons heckling him, Blastoff buried his head in-between his knees like an armadillo sheltering from two curious bobcats. Rather than focus on one’s own predicament, it was easier to inflict mental damage on others.  
Onslaught eyed Brawl, who had oddly remained silent during the ordeal, and suspected his brain was having trouble catching up with the circumstances. The former tank merely observed the combat boots cladding his feet and lazily swung a leg at the logs in front of him. The exposed earth beneath the logs revealed sheens of metal and plastic that his thick fingers gathered, paying no mind to the crunching dry dirt behind him.  
“Brawl, what are you collecting?” It was more a command than a question.  
The redhead flinched from his crouched position and passed the gadgets over head into Onslaught’s open palm before continuing his scavenger hunt. The gestalt leader examined the assortment of plastic cards and metal parallelograms with black screens. The cards came in a mixture of colors and some even had pictures printed on them. Plucking one from the mixture, he held it in the sunlight. Sixteen digits sprawled across the front, three in the back, but nothing that could indicate the predicament of how they acquired human bodies.  
The rectangular device’s blank screen seemed to mock his cluelessness; however, he pressed his thumb on a side button and the screen blared to life showing the time, date, and even weather. Intrigued he pressed further, scything through icons until he came upon a list of contacts and a map. His pulse quickened, with a map they could locate a settlement and care for their new forms and contact headquarters.  
He lowered the device from his intense gaze and blinked away the disconcerting thoughts breaching his mind. No, no other Decepticon could know about this; it would endanger them all. They would become Shockwave’s experiment in his attempt to discover how they had changed into humans. Worse, what would this say about him and his position as a leader that couldn’t protect his troops from bizarre circumstances. They would claim he was incompetent. His attention shifted back to the screen, didn’t matter if he wanted to make a call, no signal in this barren wasteland. Onslaught scowled, inferior earth device.  
“Hey! That’s mine!” Swindle's hand appeared from his peripheral vision for the device but balked at Onslaught's harsh glare. The con artist gave a sheepish grin before shifting his attention to Brawl.  
"Brawl old buddy," in his salesman's voice, "how about you give me those...." A bulky fist answered Swindle's nose and cheek. "Slag off," huffed Brawl, "Finders keepers!”  
Swindle nursed the red, welt appearing on his cheek, a trickle of blood painted his mustache. "Give me all my stuff back!”  
Brawl ceased his litter plucking and swiveled to stoop down to the wounded man, "These mean a lot to ya, how much are they worth, your life?"  
"None of your business!"  
"Better fess up or I'll see how well your new fingers withstand my feet!"  
"BRAWL, stand aside" the former tank froze and grimaced as the corner of his eye caught sight of his commander towering over him. "Now," the red head abruptly scuttled to make way as Onslaught knelt down to the cowering man.  
"Swindle, what you are keeping from us."  
"Nothing, none of these things concern any of you!"  
The calm demeanor gradually leaving his voice, "Swindle... what are these and what were you doing with them. Tell me or else."  
"Or else what?" he said snidely, "you can't afford to kill me with the value of Bruticus."  
A seethe hissed through his teeth, "Tell your commanding officer what these are and what you are doing with them, or we will leave you without the knowledge to care for your body and none of your trinkets."  
Swindle gave an odd mix of a grunt and chuckle, "That changes nothing. Even you don't know how to survive in this form."  
"I think four working together can figure it out compared to just one on his own, with no resources."  
Silence with a stern glower answered him. Onslaught gave a curt nod to Brawl, who gave a smug grin while cracking his knuckles.  
"They're for my side business." Both were taken back by his sudden blurt. "The device in your right servo is a cell phone; it's a human communication apparatus similar to our commlinks." Begrudgingly he confessed, "I use them to keep track of my clients and dealers without them knowing my personal number and from having Soundwave spy on me through my comsystem. Any cell phone you find don't mess or alter the address book but they should all have internet access and a map app."  
"Why do you have so many," grumbled Brawl.  
"If in case of the event of one breaking due to some motherboard fragger kicking and breaking my chest storage compartment," he snarled with a swing of his head at the inert Blastoff a few yards away.  
"And these?" Onslaught fanned the deck of cards in his hand, a tap to imply the middle one.  
“Debit and credit cards, I store human currency in accounts on them at the moment until the Autobots discover the exchange rate of Earth’s market and finances into cybertronian credits.”  
Onslaught twiddled a card with a winter mountain landscape on the front, interest in his eyes, “How much is on these?”  
“Depends, on which one. I have several accounts, don’t want to put all my eggs in one basket as humans say,” he sneered.  
The former anti aircraft truck’s eyes narrowed at his underling, “What are you hiding Swindle, how long has this been going on.”  
The sneer lazed to a smug smirk, “I wouldn’t dwell or dig too much into this, especially when this is the only currency we have; which we will need if mingling with the natives, and I’m the only one who knows the access codes to activate them.”  
Despite what the greedy glitch said, the chances of him following through with his offer of financial service to the team were almost comical. Only a deal might make him keep his promise. “Give the codes to me and I won’t impede in your business affairs after we restore our bodies.”  
Swindle leaned forward and snickered, “How good are you at remembering 50 different account numbers and their 10 digit codes?” The combaticon leader fumed and glowered in his anchored position for a tense juncture. Son of a glitch, he never made this easy, and now he was in a position of power. “Oh and did I mention I’m the only one with experience fraternizing with humans; it’s a rather complex social system and culture. You can't afford to lose me.”  
Brawl had difficulty is determining which side was winning as neither broke in their staring contest. If Onslaught ever had a desire to play the game, he dealt a convincing, impassive poker face. The tense juncture strained further with a haunting silence.  
"Brawl, hold him down while I get Vortex for this," said the older man as he began to rise.  
"Woah, wait! He doesn't need to get involved!" Swindle winced as Brawl roughly wrestled his wrist behind his back and pressed him forward to the ground.  
"Obviously he does if you are determined to not cooperate."  
"No wait, I can be reasonable!"  
"That time... has passed" he stomped in the direction of the interrogator who currently poked the comatose Blastoff with a stick. This nonsensical dispute stalled exploration for shelter from the elements and learning to care for their new bodies. Where the sun cast its beams on his skin now induced a prickle sensation and perspiration beaded his brow. He had no idea if this was normal or cause for alarm; regardless, it was uncomfortable.  
"No really," Swindle sputtered with eyes shifting for answers, "You can carry and keep track of them and just have me punch in the codes. I can't get any money without them"  
The leader halted with a stifle of his shoulders, contemplating the offer with his back oriented at the hustler. He was a tactician and strategist; surely he could outwit a charlatan. A narrow, sideways glance bore a hole where Brawl secured Swindle to the Earth.  
"I'll accept your proposal, but make any intent of your previous actions and whatever stains you here," he traced his upper lip," will cover the rest of your body.  
"It's called blood dear leader and if I lose enough I will die."  
"Better use that map to find a place we can stay and care for ourselves or we're all dead," Onslaught gave an apathetic wave of the back of his hand as he turned to assemble the other two teammates, but admitted one last glance back. "Brawl, release him." Sprays of sand washed over the former tank as Swindle nursed his wrists and scampered from his grasp to join the other three.

\-------------------------------------

Vortex lounged with his arms behind his head in a makeshift seat constructed of juniper branches, a pile of cards and cell phones in his lap, with his boots inadvertently propped on a considerably large cairn. His top foot bounced to the imaginary rhythm in his head. The combaticon commander sharply nudged his subordinate’s legs from their reclined position.  
"I see you've gathered the rest of Swindle's belongings, but how the slag did you manage to collect this amount of rocks in a short time frame, you're not that big!"  
The interrogator lazily cast his bored gaze at the three men surrounding him. "I'm not the one who made this; it's been here the whole time. Also I wouldn't kick it down." Brawl paused mid swing before Vortex continued, "There is some sort of encryption out of pebbles at your feet."  
The former anti aircraft truck tiptoed back and peered where his feet had been. A petroform of black gravel littered the ground. "What does it say?"  
With a lazy roll of the head and an annoyed huff, he replied, "Couldn't even tell ya what flesh creature language it's in. You read it if you're so clever."  
The glitch's attitude waned Onslaught's already thin patience with his team. Onslaught clenched his jaw; he could decipher minuscule amounts of Korean after mercenary work for Kim Jong Du but the symbols didn't match Munhwaŏ. In a ‘matter of fact’ voice he said, "We're in the US, presumably it's English."  
"Or Spanish, it's becoming more prominent in the southwestern US," piped Swindle, which earned him a withering squint from his commander, who snapped, "Then you read it, as you claimed that you know the greatest deal of interacting and knowing human cultures."  
Swindle gave a consternate squawk, "I can read printed English, Russian, and Arabic, but I would have to spend time trying to identify each letter in stones before I could tell what language it is and the message." He retrieved a phone from his back pocket and captured an image of the scene. "When we find a town, someone could probably decipher it faster."  
Vortex tilted his head in inquisitiveness, "I'm rather interested what is inscribed there. IT seems insidious, with a touch of cruel irony."  
"It, the pile?" Swindle double checked the stationary rocks.  
"No, the thing that made us all humans."  
"What makes you think that whatever caused our current physical forms predicament, created an insignificant rock pile?!"  
"Take a closer look, IT is toying with us," he gestured to the slapdash tower of rubble. There was nothing peculiarly out of the ordinary, just gray, palm sized stones with small air pocket holes, stacked at a height to Onslaught's collar bone. The three emitted confused and stumped gawks to each other, Vortex expressed a sly, cheap grin. "It's basalt. Ya know........ what we came here for." Three pairs of eyebrows raised in his direction. "IT followed us here, IT knows we were here to harvest basalt; after altering our physical forms, IT placed this here for us to find, the one thing we required is now useless to us."  
There was an awkward pause as a tumbleweed transversed through the group.  
“I think you’re giving your speculative.…...IT too much credit,” scoffed Onslaught, “why would something bother to change us and then subtlety mock us with rocks.”  
"Can't humans eat rocks?" asked Brawl.  
After a drawn pause, Vortex's grin intensified as he leaned forward, "Sure they can, take a big bite out of one and tell me how it tastes."  
Onslaught's right arm swung to block Brawl from reaching for the nearest stone, "Don't listen to him, he's misleading you for his own personal amusement to see you do something foolish and painful." The interrogator's Cheshire smirk heightened sinisterly; his amber, almost reddish, eyes amplified his shadowed impression in the sunlight. "Just as I thought, he knows something you don't, he's just exacerbating."  
Vortex relaxed his expression as he slumped back in his wooden bench and rolled his eyes, "Just trying to have a bit of fun in the state of things; however, what I said about IT, I still stand by and believe. But," he swung his arms to shift his weight ahead and rose to his feet while his hands dusted the grit and soil from his pants, "believe a deranged glitch or not, what is our next step oh great leader..."  
Onslaught snorted at Vortex's retort, "Find the nearest town and set up a base camp there. Swindle is producing a map for us, but Blastoff is the only one with any navigation sense from all his piloting, he'll be directing us to a civilization."  
"Yeah, that's definitely not happening," the former copter quickly piped from examining his pockets.  
"....What do you mean," answered a deep, throated growl.  
"Blastoff hasn't made a peep since Swindle and I called him an antiquated hunk of space junk. Actually he hasn't budged since he moved out of the camp," he gestured to the purple and brown form huddled on an outcropped boulder out looking the plains below the mesa, at the perimeter of the campground. Blastoff’s stance indicated he had physically and mentally detached himself from the lot of them as he faced forlongingly at the expansive scenery. The scene was melancholic; he was the largest in size out of the team and just comparing him to the wide open sky and terrain, amplified how small and insignificant they now were.  
"Wow, he really hasn't moved," Swindle whispered to Vortex.  
Both winced at the heavy footsteps that thundered behind them and a pair of harsh hands wretched the collar of their shirts up, as the shadow of death loomed over them. Evidently the poker face had dissolved from Onslaught's features which were now marred by a contorted snarl of rage, complete with a pulsating vein near his temple. "If I can't convince him to snap out of it, we will be marooned in this heat and I WILL make it even more unpleasant for you two," growled a husky breath. Both sat motionless after being dropped on their keisters, as the shadow passed over them.  
Only when Onslaught had situated himself on a neighboring log near Blastoff did Swindle breathe a word. "Do you think he can persuade Blastoff to get over himself and safely direct us to a human settlement?"  
"Out of all of us, he has the best chance, but to ask if Blastoff will stop feeling sorry for himself and contribute to the team, I'd say fifty fifty. What does the map say on our location?" the former copter whispered.  
"Not good, the cell phones aren't getting any reception; I can pull up a map of our general location but without GPS to mark our specific position I can't tell which is the closest town and which direction to travel or the distance to them. Worse still, towns are scarce out here like Stanix."  
Vortex's complexion paled, "What do you reckon is the closest town?" His voice leaking tiny snippets of concern.  
"The closest community, I estimate is 4 to 10 miles from here, but judging the size, it's probably a farm neighborhood and the inhabitants travel to another near town for resources, which would probably be the other town I'm estimating to be 20 to 40 miles from here. But with this heat, I don't know if we'll be able to trek the distance. I also couldn't tell which way is north without my internal compass."  
Vortex whined a dramatic sigh and with a glance to check on Brawl who remained oblivious to the conversation and had made himself comfortable on the bench of juniper branches. A bothersome silence stretched which irritated Vortex like a child in time out. An open cell phone descended into his lap with a sticky note app plastered on the screen in cybertronian that read, "Don't piss off Onslaught any further, life sucks more than ever." He sighed and rolled his eyes with a nod at Swindle, and then settled into a game of solitaire. He had just started his fifthteenth game as the last two teammates assembled with the rest. His attention remained glued to the cards but he caught snippets of Onslaught's temper and Swindle's bickering on the GPS not working and knowing which direction to travel.  
"What time is it," interrupted Blastoff. He had sat silently with a hundred mile stare until now. Swindle peered at his phone screen with a stutter, "It's 1315...." The stoic man muttered bizarre mathematical jargon under his breath before lowly answering, "If you face the sun, south will be roughly 38.5 degrees to the left, if the town is southeast of us, add another 30 to 55 degrees to the left. But without a compass to assure we remain on track and were to marched a hundred miles and our calculations were just one percent out, you could pass the Eiffel Tower in daylight and never even see it."  
"Why don't we just follow the road west of here?" Vortex called behind his phone. "If we travel southeast on it, it should eventually lead us to town?"  
Swindle tossed the idea in his head but nodded in accord, Blastoff shrugged in his trance, and Brawl made no response as he had resumed his slumber. Onslaught emitted an exasperated sigh, without knowing their exact position and lacking navigation instruments, the road seemed the best option. Taking action at this point was better spending another minute on this mesa with these four; he nodded to himself externally. "To the road then, I'm tired of lounging on this rock!" Vortex promptly sprung to his feet, phone tucked in his pocket, and made his way down the trail. Brawl snorted awake at the interrogator’s shout and dragged his bulky form after the group.  
Onslaught rose to follow, but not without permitting the cairn one last look. The wind picked up in speed, blowing towards it, and an eerie whistle stirred around him, making the simple pile of stones ooze an ominous aura. Those yellow eyes, were they watching? Nonsense, they had more important matters to address he advised himself and turned about face.  
Blastoff stumbled with clumsy footing on the rough terrain and wandered unevenly in a wavy line after the group. He periodically focused on the ground at his boots or would raise his sight for the team while bobbing his head and squinting his eyes in the bright, unforgiving sun. A frown creased Onslaught's mouth, something was wrong with his sniper; the man's slow and ginger gait with the lost and unsure look was highly unlike his character. Worst, he was delaying the team.  
Onslaught grunted at Swindle, "Go help Blastoff down the trail."  
"Why me?" Whined the business man as he dragged his feet.  
"Because Brawl or Vortex will make whatever is wrong worse and I have to keep them in line, unless you want to take that position?" Swindle vigorously shook his head with a large frown. "As I presumed, besides if you want to earn some of the teams good graces, start helping your teammates," he said lowly, marching pass the former jeep.  
Swindle stalled for the team’s navigator to reach him while inspecting the surrounding indent he stood in; he scrutinized the artificial parallel edges and faded tire tracks. Whatever created this happened to be big. A weight in his stomach plummeted and his tan face paled, it was his footprint from last night. Lost in his own thoughts, he failed to notice Blastoff walking by; he had to trot after his towering team to catch up. The two continued in silence until Swindle broke the ice, "Need help finding the way down?"  
Blastoff jerked his head to the side and snapped, "No!”  
With his concentration on finding his footing removed, he stumbled to his knees. His hands managed to catch the rest of him, but not without cutting his palms.  
Swindle leaned down to inspect the gashes, a wince hissing from him. "Are you sure, Onslaught and I couldn't help but notice..."  
"I said I'm fine! I don't need anyone’s help, even if I'm stuck in an organic body!" He hastily rose and clambered down the trail after the rest of the group. "We may be fragile humans but I am not weak or in need of pityyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" He slipped backwards on a cluster of loose gravel but was able to sloppily coordinate himself to firm ground and continue his artless gait after the others.  
Swindle remained rooted in his position watching the once elegant shuttle bumble like a sailor's first time out at sea. He couldn't help but ask himself, "Does he know he's bleeding?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will the combaticons survive each other through the wilderness? How will they adapt to their new human bodies? What does IT have in store for them? Tune in next time!
> 
> Thanks for reading


	3. Where Dirt goes to Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through the barren forgotten wilderness they traveled.....
> 
> I don't own Onslaught, Blastoff, Brawl, Swindle, or Vortex, or the transformers universe. But who they come across are my own creation. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years ya'll! I met my goal for this year, finish this chapter in fewer months than the last chapter and surprisingly this is the most I have ever written in a five month period. My new New Years resolution is to meet this goal again and get chapters 4 & 5 out in 2018, wish me luck! I hope those reading this chapter, enjoy it as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Cheers everyone!

Chapter 3 - Where Dirt goes to Die

The heat drained reality from the barren wasteland; it suffocated the stuffy, dust filled air like a boiling gas in a flask. Any breeze that swept through offered no comfort in clearing the particles; it just brought more and sluggishly wafted just enough to make the area not stagnant. Vultures soared in lackadaisical glides above the five decepticons that traveled at a sticky, lethargic pace.

Vortex lead but not by much as his legs staggered to carry him alongside the dirt road; Brawl and Swindle dwindled behind him. Onslaught came in fourth, straining to keep his back straight in a controlled march as the sun bored down on him. Every few yards he'd pause for Blastoff, their caboose, to catch up.

They had journeyed southeast, down from the mesas and scattered junipers and cedars to the open patchy grass plains and across a shallow river. The loose gravel road that cut through the riverbed created difficulty in their trek.

A loud splash announced Blastoff had slipped, and the scream alluded that he had dragged a victim with him. The navigator floundered in shock while Brawl resurfaced with a complacent look on his face and washed his neck while scanning the sky cautiously. “That looks like fun! Wait for me Brawl!” 

In Onslaught’s peripheral vision, Vortex dropped his phone, knocked Swindle into the river, and belly flopped next to the two wading combaticons. The younger comrade began a series of wing slap splashes on the former tank who tried reaching for the interrogator's collar; a rogue wave crashed into Swindle who angrily entered the comotion and returned fire. 

“Hehehe, challenger three has joined!”

“Cut it out Vortex!” snarled the tank. Another splash surged at him but he dodged it and Blastoff, who was trying to stumble back to shore, took the full hit.

“Make me!” 

“I SAID KNOCK IT OFF!” Brawl charged but the waist deep water reduced his momentum and Vortex easily back stroked out of the way. The red head continued to try to catch him but he easily launched and swam out of harm's way. Brawl ducked under the surface for a second and emerged with a fist sized stone. 

“ENOUGH, YOU’RE GOING TO GIVE OUR POSITION AWAY YOU GLITCH!” Vortex gave a few mock dodges before springing to the side, the sailing stone clipped Swindle, who had been behind him, in the shoulder.

Brawl wiped his face with a sleeve and trudged to the shore and just scowled at the ingate. Onslaught never thought he’d see the day when Brawl backed down from a fight. The combaticon commander had brushed off the warrior’s silent behavior earlier for him being in shock of the circumstances but this, this was out of character.

“I’m out,” spat the former Jeep, nursing his shoulder, and waded to Blastoff, who shivered on the gravel like a nearly drowned cat. With the loss of his two opponents, Vortex flopped on his back and let the hebetudinous river carry him.

Maybe it was their new unfortunate forms, or the heat, or that they were originally dysfunctional that caused the increase in disputes; but, Onslaught was grateful that they had seem to burn themselves out. But what Swindle’s did next threw him off guard.

“What in the pit are you DOING?”

“Cooling off and staying hydrated,” said the con artist, between slurps of water in his cupped hands.

“That is revolting!”

“I don’t like it anymore than you but we have to stoop to this level. Do you remember the humans in the middle east having to frequently consume water? It’s necessary for survival, especially in extreme heat.”

“Yes yes,” the combaticon commander agreed but wasn’t ready to accept the fact that they all would have to conform to these degrading organic needs. Maybe a cool down and a refueling would ease tensions. “Lads, take an intermission, make sure to get some water in you and then we’re heading out.”

Swindle removed his cell phone from his jacket, shook the water from it, and grumbled in question if it had short circuited. Brawl sulked on the embankment; Onslaught figured now would be the best time to confront him about his behavior. The heavy weapons expert shifted his gaze from his commander under his eyebrows, “WUT” came a low growl. 

“Stay in your seat, we’re having a discussion,” he lowered himself on an adjacent rock.

Brawl’s eyes swayed from side to side, “Why, I haven’t caused massive amounts of damage, or loud outbursts.”

“Yes, I have noticed and have observed you since you woke up. We are not ourselves of course,” Onslaught gestured to his physical form, “but I don’t think it would have as extensive of an impact on you personality wise.”

The former tank’s eyes glazed over.

Onslaught heaved a sigh, “Brawl you’re acting quiet, cautious, and while I don’t want to complain too much, you’ve been agreeable as of late. I expected you to scream and smash objects when you realized that you were in a human body. You have been the only one who seems to accept the circumstances.”

Brawl paused with his mouth slacked in thought before slowly saying, “Since being revived from the detention center, this is the third body I’ve been thrown into. First, my personality component gets crammed into a tank carcass by Starscream, then Swindle dumps it in a scrap yard where three young fleshlings stuff me in their experimental robot with their greasy paws for a ‘science fair’ whatever the slag that is, and now this.’ 

‘In the brats’ lab I ended up summoning the Autobots. Being in a new body, with no weapons, that’s being chased by your worst enemy, you tell me if you could keep your cool. Then Swindle blind sides me on a corner and rips my personality component out. It was just slagging awful! I’ve had Megatron smash my face plates before and it didn’t hurt as much as what Swindle did. I figured if I kept quiet in this new body the Autobots wouldn’t show up and cause a ruckus with us ending up dead.’  
‘Also, I remember being uncomfortably shoved the other two times, this one, I just onlined like this, no weird transition. I got my body back last time, I know I’ll get it back again; I’d just like the transition to be as nice when I got this one.”

Both of Onslaught’s eyebrows nearly disappeared in his hairline, this was the highest level of cognitive thinking Brawl had ever performed, he didn’t even know the meche… err man had the mental capacity. And yet he envied the tank’s confident assurance that he was going to get his body back.

“This is Swindle’s fault, right? You’ll make the pip squeak fix this.”

Onslaught paused in an attempt to make his statement idiot proof, “As angry as I still am at him for what he did to all of us, I know he did not cause this. Is this why you have been taking any of your frustrations out on him personally? I saw you give up on nailing Vortex with that rock and aim for him and you were too eager to bully him into cooperating earlier.”

His answer came in a dejected grunt and no eye contact.

“His past actions still keep me on alert; and, I question the extent of his financial assistance to us, but further injuring and alienating him won’t do us any favors.”

“Meaning?”

Onslaught’s eyes caught Brawl’s, “He is still a Combaticon, make sure he behaves as a good soldier and doesn’t commit further treason. If he does,” his voice dropped further, “you send him to me; and, when we have our metal forms back, rip off one of his legs if you like. It will be easy to reattach then. Understood?”

“Sir,” acknowledged Brawl.

Onslaught internally pat himself on the back. He had one of his cadets loyally taking orders and an another would contribute to ensure his continued existence. That left half of the team, if he could figure what Blastoff’s malfunction was he could convince the shuttle to help, if it worked towards getting his previous form back. Which left the glitch. 

His focus slipped from his thoughts to the unhinged combaticon now backstroking upstream to the gravel bridge, spraying water like a fountain from his mouth. Vortex’s specs should come with the warning label “Does not play well with others” no scratch that “Keep away from open flames and karaoke machines”. Normally he’d keep the degenerate in check by revoking his ‘toys’ or keeping him grounded, rebuking had no effect. Now, Vortex had nothing tying him down other than his rotors were absent. It was entirely possible that Vortex’s sense of ‘fun’ could very well land them in a human prison. Currently his antics were nothing but his usual gimmicks to irritate his team, but that could change without warning. He’d figure something out.

Onslaught’s concentration shifted again when his eyes caught movement from Brawl. The former tank now repeated the same motions as Swindle by drawing water from the river. A lump manifested in his throat that fought back when he tried to swallow it. He heaved a sigh, this was going to be awful, bad enough with Vortex swimming in it. His hands mimicked what the other two combaticons had done, slowly he brought the water to his lips. It was cool and refreshing to his parched throat but…. he couldn’t put his finger on it. Odd, the fleshy muscle in his mouth could distinguish certain flavors of what he ingested. Not as sophisticated as the chemical analyzer in his old form but remarkably functional. His tongue traced the bits of flavor off his teeth. It was briney, bitter, and mouth drying. He took another sip and grimace; a few more handfuls were all he could bear before gagging.

The silence stretched until Swindle broke it.

"We should have a plan before we enter town to not stand as outcasts or drawn attention," he said, shielding his eyes from the sun’s rays.

Onslaught replied gruffly, "We should be more concern about us being able to reach town, I did a pace count on the distance we’ve covered and we still have roughly 27 miles left in this heat."

There was a collective groan among the team.

Vortex raised his hand for a split second, "I vote we hitchhike," before submerging it back under the river. Brawl swung his up in agreement, Onslaught shrugged, and Blastoff nodded vacantly. Only Swindle wore a disapproving face, "We'll be dealing with a human, we'll need a plan even sooner, a backstory."

"Our car broke down and we need a ride into town, sounds good enough, should be simple for a compulsive liar such as yourself to fill in the cracks," said Vortex.

Swinde's frown creased further, "And what shall I call you? Our names don't exactly blend in; unless, you've adopted an alternative persona for identification. Mine's 'Carlos' if you check those plastic cards."

“Carlos? AHAHAHA like car lost, cause you’re not a Jeep anymore AHAHA HOFFF,” Vortex’s laughter reduced his buoyancy and he sunk, only to resurface wheezing and sputtering.

“Slag, first you hide your business, now we find out you’ve created an alternative identity for said business, you’re a glutton for punishment,” said Brawl.

Swindle leered at him, “I doubt you could create a suitable human name so we’ll call you Tony,” he continued before Brawl could object, “Blastoff will be Milton..."

"I'm having no part in this," growled the navigator, "I will not stoop so low as to adopt a human name chosen by you. However, I will allow myself to be called James on occasion. It's somewhat regal sounding."

Everyone gave a visible shrug before Vortex fell backwards on the river bank and declaratively shot a finger in the air, "Hehehehe Tex is still a suitable nickname among humans but I guess I'll go with mmmmnnnn.... Travis."

"Since when do you know any human names and why that?!" asked Swindle.

Vortex grinned at him upside down, "I hear Brawl scream ‘KILL HIM TRAVIS!’ when he is watching the fleshling sports, also it sounds almost like travisity. Travis Travisity!" He laughed and choked at his own joke, or if it could be called one.

Swindle shook his head and rolled his eyes, "Which leaves..."

"Ceasar."

"What?"

"I wish to go by Caesar," stated Onslaught.

A collective "NO!" rang out that visibly ruffled the commander’s feathers.

"Then Alexander."

"NO!"

"Ulysses."

"NO!!"

"MacArthur."

"Quit taking names of famous generals and make one of your own!"

“How about Stalin,” yelled Swindle

Laughter erupted from all but the leader who snubbed his nose in the air, "I don't know any others."

Vortex twiddled his fingertips and began cackling, "Oh I know of one, Rory."

Onslaught crossed his arms and gave an indignant huff, "Is that even a normal human name? If so, I believe that name would suit Brawl more than me."

"Too late, Tony already has a name, your's is Rory because you can make an equal amount of racket if your precious plan goes awry," the devilish smile returning to his features.

Onslaught scrutinized the interrogator's remark and the snickers reverberating from his troop. “ENOUGH! Intermission is over, get a last drink and move out!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After leaving the mesas' valleys, the land became flat as if it were a golden lime sea. Endless miles of featureless, grassy wilderness abyss stretched before them, with an occasional telephone pole and barbed wire fence. The road shifted from dirt to an asphalt highway spanning east and west that brought supplemental grief as the asphalt reflected the heat on the ground into the surrounding air.

Breaths turned ragged and clothes soaked; their delirious steps brought them to a shallow bridge crossing a dried creek bed. Vortex waved the team to the minute amount of shade it offered and pressed his face and arms against the cooler concrete foundation. While no water flowed, the damp soil on the bottom offered relief to their heated skin and bodies. The battered panting among them relaxed as the cooler breeze whipped under the bridge.

“Ons we need a new plan, we can’t keep going like this; I’ve seen less desolate lunar surfaces” panted Swindle.

“No one here by that name, you mean Rory?” piped Vortex.

“Shut up fragger, it’s too slagging hot for jokes!”

“Tsk, shouldn’t we get use to our human names, they’re necessary for blending in with the fleshlings.”

Onslaught wiped his brow, “We still have 24 miles left.”

A load collective groan resounded under the bridge.

“I vote we hitchhike, I don’t think we can last on foot much longer, Brawl doesn’t look good,” said Vortex between pants.

Onslaught and Swindle turned to notice the broadly built man sweating profusely and clenching his jaw. 

“Eh Brawl, you feeling okay you..”

Brawl wearly raised his head to reply before a foul liquid concoction erupted from him in a thick stream. “FRAG TO THE PIT AND BACK! What in Primus is that!” screamed someone. The once delirious group now scrambled wide awake. 

“I have no idea! It smells awful, is that acid? Is this some human defense mechanism, is this even normal for humans!” screamed Swindle in panic through a pinched nose. 

“Don’t ask me, you’re the human expert!” shrieked Vortex scrabbling backwards on all fours.

“HUMAN CULTURES, NOT BIOLOGY!”

“I think I’m going to be sick...” 

Panic and confusion swept through the gestalt team, “Everyone settle down, Brawl ceasefire,” said Onslaught trying to maintain a modicum of control over the situation. 

“Sorry Sir, seems to be back fire,” he retched another wave of river remains from his stomach. This prompted a chain reaction as now Vortex and Swindle joined the underpass garden of human sculpture fountains in agony. 

Their leader just gave up, the whole scene was bizarre, the stagnant heat made him feel ill, and his system squirmed at the sight of them. ‘Oh dear, no no… no no. NO!’ His abdomen churned as something rose to his throat. ‘Slag it!’ He joined the mayhem. A bewildered Blastoff scrabbled to the edge of the shelter and trembled in place as a sour stench permeated from under the bridge. The underpass rang with men tossing their cookies, agonized heaving, and Vortex’s occasionally cry, “It came out of my nose”.  
The sniper didn’t dare to peer toward his teammates until the racket under the bridge subsided to low wheezes. In the shadows, four men slumped carelessly in a daze. Brawl wiped the residue from his face, “What the slag happened?” His answer came in half assed shrugs from everyone. “I don’t know,” said Swindle “but whatever water I had in my system is now gone.”

Blastoff called out, “Where did you find water?”

The arms dealer sat up in an annoyed glare, “Back at the stream, didn’t you refuel?” The navigator shook his head. “Figures,” the merchant rolled his eyes and plopped his head back on the ground.

“Well excuse me for not consuming questionable water.”

Vortex peeled himself from the cool concrete, “Ons, we really need to hitchhike, we can’t continue on in this heat.”

The combaticon leader groggily nodded his head in agreement. 

“Face it,” whined the con artist, “We haven’t seen anything out here, not a single vehicle on this road; we’re going to die out here. Die in foreign human bodies, no one will ever know what became of us.”

“You don’t know that…”

“What! You think fortune is going to shine on us and a truck will miraculously stop, giving us time to climb abroad and quisk us off to…”

A deep vibration rumbled from the ground, it sent the red shale shavings littering the floor into a clatter. The hum of a diesel engine and squeaky axles whisked overhead, but a loud screech and crash stopped a few yards from where they hid.  
The five hastily clambered up to the road. Pulled over on the side of the asphalt was a pick-up truck hauling a rusty, stock trailer full of cattle. The driver and his passenger darted out towards the hood, something about hitting one of the local wildlife.

“Good enough for me and they don’t need to know,” said Vortex as he slinked to the back of the trailer and squeezed through the bars. The others followed him in quick pursuit, except Blastoff. He ended up being dragged by his sleeve and clumsily forced on.

Multiple curious, black eyes watched them settle on the hay cover floor, but resumed their more interesting activity of munching the hay bags when no treats were offered. Vortex slithered to the closest one; the steer twisted its head towards him as far as its tethered halter offered and stretched out its tongue. The decepticon reached two fingers out and stroked it. The animal promptly retracted the muscle and dug it into one moisty, mucused nostril before tucking it back in its mouth. “Ewwww,” he grimaced and wiped the saliva drenched appendages in the fur of the steer’s flank.

“Hey Swindle, why do humans keep these things anyway?”

A annoyed sigh escaped the arms dealer, “Why are you asking me these questions?”

“You brag that you know humans, live up to the claim.”

Swindle rolled his eyes, “There is some kind of industry focused on them but I’m not exactly sure for what.” He stretched his legs in the soft bedding, “They didn’t particularly suit an immediate use for me so I never investigated the market.”

The interrogator continued to stroke the soft fur, it gently tickled and pillowed his palm. 

“Why would humans have a market for these? They don’t look too bright for training or defending themselves,” said Brawl.

“If their dumb then they’d be the perfect companion for you,” grinned Vortex, oblivious to the backside of one of the cows right behind him.

“I’d watch it if I were you.”

“Hmpf, what are you going to do about it?”

“No not me, the one behind you.”

The steer behind the decepticon at that moment had lifted its tail and began unloading its bowels. Vortex squawked as some spattered on his back and he skidded a seat next to his teammates, giving a disgusted shiver. “Serves you right.”  
Swindle and Brawl cachinnated while Onslaught’s stoic expression threatened to crack a smirk but all that screeched to a halt as their noses took a whiff.

“Slag that is rancid! Humans certainly can’t keep them for the smell.” More cows began lifting their tails; the four diverted their eyes from the scene to the back where Blastoff huddled near the trailer’s gate. Exhaustion seemed to have overcome him and his obsessive need for cleanliness, for he dozed on his side with his hip in a wet, cow pie. All tried to hold their laughter but it was too much, even Onslaught shook with a chuckle. A cell phone flashed, capturing the blackmail for a future date. The muffled snickers and laughs soon died till the only sounds came from the rattling of the trailer and munching of the bovines, with the intermittent pawing of a bored hoof.

“Sooo,” began Brawl, “How long till we reach the town?”

Onslaught stretched his shoulder, “With the rate we’re going, I’d say four breems. I’d rest up, we’ll need it before entering human society.” He seemed to relax his guard a smidge as the rest of his men hunkered down and closed their eyes.

Swindle splayed his jacket over him and tucked his nose in the collar to keep the assault of the methane at bay. Despite the wavering uncertainty of a new body and dirty bedding, he felt himself drift off with the sway of the ride.

~~~~~~~~~

Two hands roughly shook him from his sleep.

“Swindle, wake up!” hissed Vortex in a low whisper.

“Hmmm whuuuuuttt?” he groggily replied.

“Swindle, we have to make a break for it!” the copter’s voice gaining urgence.

“What is your malfunction Vortex,” he drooped his head back in the hay, just about to slip into his subconscious again.

“The driver spotted me near his cows, I think….,” 

The trailer immediately slammed into the back of the braking truck. The animals’ uproared their displeasure as they staggered for footing against their halter restraints; the now awake combaticons were flung across the trailer floor.  
A barely distinguishable, “Combaticons, run for it” came over the cacophony of moos.

“What the slag did you do Vortex!” said Swindle as he snatched his jacket and scurried on his belly under flying hooves and contaminated, airborne bedding. 

Brawl flung the back gate open and screamed, “You really slagging messed up this time Vortex!”

“I know, I know, I have an idea just run for it,” he retreated further into the masses of angry fur. 

Upon exiting the trailer the other four could hear the cycling of a pump action shotgun as the driver and his passenger charged from the cab. Onslaught nudged Swindle forward to negotiate, but the former jeep backed down and hid behind Blastoff.  
“I said run you idiots!” shouted from the inside of the trailer. 

They were about to protest until multiple tons of unprocessed hamburger stampeded towards them. The four bolted off like a herd of antelope, Onslaught hooked Blastoff by the elbow and yanked him over as a highly spirited steer trampled by. A single shot fired over their heads. Vortex barreled through the chaos and soon ran ahead of the group. “Keep going!”

The combaticons sped across the prairie until they reached a small cluster of trees that were far out of sight from the earlier excitement. It seemed the rancher had chose not to follow them and to try to wrangle his disbanded cattle.

“Yahoooooo what a rush, I certainly enjoyed that, I feel so alive! What about you guys?” Vortex’s answer came in the sounds of bodies plummeting on the ground and ragged gasps. “Awww come on guys it wasn’t that bad.” A slag eating grin adorned his face as he turn towards them, only to welcome Onslaught’s fist.

~~~~~~~~

AHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHA! Too rich, never would he have believed the amount of sheer amusement he’d benefit from watching these former robots bumble in their new bodies. Such a diverse group of temperaments forced to work as a unit; he would enjoy needling them for reactions. The amusement captured him so much he almost forgot why they were human in the first place. His glee made his mind float off into the sky sometimes. But no, they had a purpose for him.

The ‘stoic’ one, though he was aware, he doubted his senses. But he would believe in time. He needed him to believe if he was ever going to extract what he desired from this group. The ‘playful’ one, oh he was going to have the most fun entering his dreams; he gave him a small applaud on his observation earlier at the cairn, intuitive he’d remember that. The other three had yet to show him potential, although the ‘tallest’ one raised some concern. That one’s behavior seemed not to stem from the difficulty of mentally accepting his new body. No, something was physically wrong with him; something he would figure out later at night. 

Under his watchful eye they were surviving well, if things got too dire for them he’d intervene with a light touch, couldn’t have them dead, they would be no use to him. Yes things were falling into place, just one last cog to throw into his plan and it would be set. He glared out into the distance at a town he could not see from his perch but knew it stood many miles further.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Tex, do you know the little voice in your head that tells you to stop if something is a bad idea? No, YOU DON’T BECAUSE YOU DON’T HAVE ONE!” shrieked Swindle.

“I was merely petting the cows when the driver spotted me, I wasn’t mistreating them or shoving their neighbors’ tail up their nose.”

“It doesn’t matter what you were doing, you got us caught and now we don’t have a ride to town; on top of that, the truck turned down a dirt back road, so we don’t even know which direction the town is.”

“Hey, I saved your afts by making a distraction. But did I ever hear a thank you? Noooooooooooooooooo, just a suckerpunch to the face.”

“Tex hush,” groaned Brawl, “We’re hot and lost again and it’s thanks you.”

Vortex gave him a dangerous squint, “Should of let them pump you full of lead.” The red head made a lunge for the glitch from his seat, but Swindle attempted to hold him back by his shoulders. The unhinged combaticon merely waved a lazy foot at the offending hands. 

Swindle rolled his eyes, “What the slag am I doing, this is Onslaught’s job.” He released the the former tank and dusted his pants as he rose. “I don’t care what Onslaught’s plan is, I’m just going to search for the road and follow it, I should bump into something. Good luck to the rest of you,” he gave a mock salute to Brawl who wrestled Vortex in a tight choke hold while repeatedly punching him.

The former tank bolted from the nearly asphyxiated interrogator who gasped “Harder daddy” and chased after his leg counterpart. “Whoa! Get back, you’re not ditching us, the unit is stronger if we stick together..”

“It’ll be difficult to survive the fleshling world, but better than succumbing to the natural elements with you morons, I’m not tactican but I know that at certain times it’s better to act than plan.”

The argument between Bruticus’s legs attracted Onslaught from his brainstorm to their bickering, “And what makes you think you can find the highway and from that you’ll find civilization?”

Swindle straightened his posture in defiance at his leader, “None of your decisions have paid off well for us, admit it. You have no idea what you are doing as a human and could very likely get us killed!”

“Swindle, regardless of your feelings, no one is disbanding from my team.” 

“Then make better decisions as a leader, you’ve done a poor job so far.”

Vortex suddenly sprung from the ground, “You guys hear that?”

His teammates eyed him in annoyance or confusion. 

“No really, it’s an odd beating sound that’s getting louder.” He wandered just outside of their hiding place, the other three following him. “It’s odd, sounds like something heavy is makAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH” The rest of group reached the edge of the trees in just as a large mass skidded to a halt and slammed Vortex to the ground.

A skewbald pinto reared, front hooves flailing wildly, ears flat against its neck, and its teeth bared. Vortex rolled away just in time as the hooves crashed where he lay earlier. The equine neighed and thrashed its legs while its head fought against the reins of its master, who was jerking them in an attempt to gain control over the spooked animal.

“What the slag!” Vortex scrambled in front of Onslaught; who remained frozen beside Brawl and Swindle. 

The rider seemed to gain the upper hand on its mount as the wild bucks faltered, allowing the four a better look at the stranger. A brown, wide brimmed Akubra had shadowed the face but now, they could see strands of long, dusty blonde hair encompass a horrified face painted with freckles on the cheeks and nose. The girl’s complexion paled as she made direct eye contact with Onslaught. With trembling arms, she yanked her horse’s head in the opposite direction from them, gave a swift kick of the heel to its flanks, and cracked the reins. As abruptly as the scene appeared, it ended with the animal quickly speeding across the flat grassland, its tail waving farewell.

”Whaaa…..Wha…..What happened,” stuttered Brawl.

Swindle wobbled his head in disbelief, “Our chance to commit horse theft? How many more odd occurrences are going to happen today because….. Onslaught?” The combaticon leader marched passed them in the direction the horse retreated. “Onslaught where are you going? You said earlier we need to formulate a plan before leaving this place!”

The decepticon officer paused to glance back, “Round up Blastoff and deploy out.”

“Whoa wait, I understand following the horse but they’re far out of sight, how do we know if they fled in a straight line?”

His commander gave an unamused look and pointed to the ground at the horse’s tracks.


	4. Round World, Square Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've made it to town but their adventure for the day isn't over yet!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, sorry to disappoint, this is the second half of what was originally chapter three but I had some requests to split the chapter and thought it would be more manageable for folks. Good news everyone, chapter 5 is just around the corner.

As they followed the animal’s tracks south, the intensity of the sun’s rays drastically reduced as it neared the horizon. Their pace quicken as the temperature dropped and the challenge of hunting footprints in the dark became more obvious. Two specks on the horizon grew to reveal a grain elevator and water tower. Forget the equines footprints, human structures! At last, signs of an oasis of civilization in this flat desert of grass! Expressions conveyed exhausted relief as they reach the perimeter of the town, but none made a mad dash or sprint, their physical forms too battered and weak to exert excessive energy.

The border of the sleepy town consisted of small, rustic bungalows; some well maintained, others the description of trailer trash. Moths fluttered around dim flickering porch lights where residents gossiped with neighbors. Some paused as the newcomers dragged themselves down the street, others retreated behind screen doors in hushed whispers. Few even pointed at Swindle when he had to correct and guide Blastoff from colliding with a mailbox.

“Yeesh Blastoff, you act like you can’t see past your nose.” The former shuttle emitted a dejected huft and pressed forward.

The shift from dirt and gravel streets to cobblestone indicted the transition from rural suburbs to the decrepit downtown. Only two buildings showed signs of regular maintenance, the brick town square and a white church with a tall bell steeple. Further down the main road, old masonry structures filled with rundown shops lined either side. Darkness consumed the closed stores, save for the diner’s neon sign, the only lively place seen so far.

Brawl gazed through the glass curtain window at the oblivious patrons who scarfed down their dinners. He grimaced as his abdomen rumbled and produced angry noises at the sight of the array of comestibles on the tables. A duet of gurgling began as Vortex joined beside him at the window, drool forming at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t long before Swindle integrated in the zombie trace team at the storefront. Blastoff leaned on a lamp post for support, ready to past out.

They were in bad shape, Onslaught sighed, they spent the majority of the day dehydrated and hadn’t had a decent refueling since before they left their base. It seemed they were hungry enough that even organic food enticed them. He cleared his dry throat, “Lads, gather round.” The three reluctantly dragged themselves towards him. “Before we can seek sustenance we need two things, first Swindle needs to acquire us currency to make purchases; second, we need to establish a base of operations.”

Swindle lazily lifted his head, “Swindle can’t acquire currency because the bank is closed for the day and I didn’t see an ATM.” 

The pulsing vessel reappeared on Onslaughts temple, “....Swindle you better.”

“Calm down Onslaught, I can’t retrieve any banknotes for everyone to use, but if you give me one of the credit cards I can purchase us boarding and refueling for tonight.”

Everyone eyed him suspiciously.

“Look, whatever concerns you have of me betraying all of you, just drop it. What am I gonna do, run back out in the grass wasteland. Besides I’m too exhausted and hungry to conceive any tricks. Just give me a card and let me do the talking, you can loom over me while I conduct everything, like Megatron over Starscream, and learn a thing or two on dealing with humans. What’s it gonna be?” With one hand on his hip, he offered the other in an open palm, waggling his fingers.

Onslaught reluctantly relented and passed the con artist a card from his pocket. The con snatched it from him and marched further down the road. “There should be some establishment of lodging on the main street and we haven’t explored this area yet.

\---------------------------------------------

Swindle’s hypothesis proved to be true, a quaint motel resided on the highway before exiting the town. The front sign beamed two little words that made Swindle’s stomach drop and he silently prayed to Primus that none of the others had read it, or that they were capable of reading english. Hopefully he could convince the clerk to make an exception for them. 

He scoffed at himself, ‘hopefully’ where did that come from? No one could resist his salesman charm…. except his teammates because they knew him a bit too well. He paused at the lobby entrance and steeled himself. ‘I’ve interacted with humans before but not on their terms, if I had my old body I could use it as leverage in intimidation.’ He suddenly glared at his reflection and silhouettes of his teammates on the door’s glass. ‘Son of a motherboard fragger. It’s bad enough to suddenly become human by.. I guess Vortex’s IT, but did IT still need to make me the SHORTEST!’

‘Nevermind, I’m just getting us a room for the night, something to silence my tank’s complaints, and shutting out the rest of the world for some much needed recharge.’ He forced a pleasant smile as he crossed through the threshold.

The clerk occupied himself behind the sports section of his newspaper, oblivious to the newcomer in front of him. An occasional rustle of a paper and cough indicated he had not yet died from the shear excitement he experienced at work or his smoking habits.   
“Eh hm, Hello?”

The newspaper shuttered as if startled and dropped like a drawbridge to revealed an overtly middle aged man with thinning hair and a thick moustache. He held a cigar between two canines while bobbing his head like a chicken to get a good look at the group, particularly at the one who interrupted him. “Hello, no oh elo roomo, elo availEbo,” he said loud and slowly.

Swindle stood flabbergasted and stuttered, “I beg your pardon sir?”

The clerk jerked his head back dumbfounded, mouth slightly agape, his cigar had fallen behind the counter. 

Swindle cocked a brow at the man, “Uh yes, I saw the sign outside, I hope someone accidently forgot to turn it off because we need two rooms. Our car caught on fire quite a few miles out of town and we’re stuck here until it’s repaired”  
The man finally regained his senses and shook his head, “I was not expecting you to know English, and sorry about your car, but all of my rooms are booked.

“You’re joking,” sighed the decepticon, “ I didn’t think a small town such as this would attract enough folks to fill a hotel.”

The clerk gave a hearty laugh, “Of course we do, it’s our biggest festival we host, the annual rattlesnake hunt! We have folks from all over the state and neighboring states for this event. Here have a brochure on it, you can read English?”

Swindle gave him an unamused stare, his smile had long since faded, “I was perfectly capable of reading your sign outside.”

“If that’s so, then why did you come in and ask me?”

The former Jeep snatched the packet and turned heel, “In case someone canceled because we have nowhere else to go and I didn’t see any other hotels.”

The other combaticons were crashed out on the sofa in the lobby, except Brawl who stared at a longhorn bull mounted on the wall. After a quick inspection of where the neck met the wall, he would walk around to the other side of the wall, only to display confusion.

Just as Swindle was about to report the bad news to his commander the hotel host shouted at him, “Wait!” He paused and drummed his fingers nervously as all the Combaticons eyed him. “Uh, this is the only hotel in town and we are booked, but if you go two blocks east of here and turn left and go north for about a mile you’ll run into a farmhouse on the northeast of town. There is an elderly woman, a good christian woman, and her husband in that house with two rooms for rent. As far as I know, they don’t have any tenants yet, I would try there.”

Onslaught rose from his seat, nodded, and rounded up his men without a word. Vortex dragged Brawl away from the wall, leaving the bulky man to forever question the mystery of what happened to the rest to the bull.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The last light of the day had nearly diminished as it began to sink below the horizon. The itinerants, now sick of their nomadic lifestyle for the day, scraped along what hopefully was the last leg of their journey for the day. 

A lone, farm house’s light shined up ahead behind a rickety picket fence with flecks of white paint. The front gate gave a creaking envoi before busting from its rusted hinges and clattering to the ground. The two story house and yard fared no better. While appearing structurally sound, the exterior of the house showed signs of decay on the siding with large strips of peeling paint and the roof gently dipping in certain locations. Messy patches of dormant bermuda grass scattered the lawn; while tall weeds choked the few flowers in the flowerbeds that outlined the house. The lattice siding under the porch had a hole gnawed through it; a canine’s muzzle and reflective eyes poked through but disappeared in a flash as they approached. Front porch floor boards squealed in protest just as loud as the screen door’s rattle when they knocked.

Nothing happened, the lights were on inside, but no signs or sounds of life stirred. They knocked again, this time louder, still nothing. Swindle sighed, of course this was his luck, their last lead and hope turned into a dud; he felt the full and exhausted anger from the four pair of eyes glaring at him. 

Something rustled in the weeds behind Vortex, loud enough to draw his attention from the bickering of his commander and the con artist; and, entice him to slide over the porch railing into the overgrown flower bed. He rummaged through the foliage but suddenly wished he hadn’t. Sharp pain pierced his shin and he flailed backwards as an enraged barnyard fowl sprung from its hiding place. The quarrel on the porch had ceased as he came under attack; Brawl broke into a gut busting laugh.

The rooster clawed the ground with one leg like it were revving an engine and emitted a shrill crow before charging at the decepticon’s face. Vortex shielded himself from the oncoming spurs as he made a backwards scrabble into the property’s trash cans. One of his hands madly searched the top of the bins and yanked one of the lids in front of him, like a ghetto Captain America. The metal lid loudly rang as the bird repeatedly launched a flurry of feathered attacks.

Footsteps thundered behind the front door and an elderly gentleman whisked by the combaticons watching on the porch. The man hobbled down the steps waving his cane before snatching a garden hose and rotating the faucet on full blast. “Mr. Pepper! Stop that racket and get back in the coop with the hens!” He shot the rooster with the jet stream of water, which also drenched Vortex in the process. The metal lid clanged to the ground as Vortex shivered in his soaked outfit while the fowl fluttered a retreat into the darkness. 

The stranger switched off the water and removed his bifocals to wipe the droplets from them with his shirt. As he perched them back on his nose, he flinched in startlement at the four men idling at his front door. The motley group were quite the sight; their clothes soiled in mud and sweat, short hair matted and cow licked, and all slouched as if they were about to keel over. They looked like they had seen shit, no scratch that, they had been through shit, cow shit, it literally splattered their clothes. With an uneasy grin he removed a device from his ear, fiddled with the gadget, and promptly shoved it back in,“Why howdy gentlemen. Can I help ya this fine even’n?” he said in wavering voice. 

A tap from Onslaught’s boot snapped Swindle from his surreal trance, “Good evening sir, we pardon the late night intrusion but the clerk at the motel pointed us in your direction. My comrades and I have had the misfortune of our car engine combusting along the highway far out of town and had to travel here to get signal to call a tow truck. We are stuck in town till it’s fixed and the motel is booked for some festival. The man there said a room was open for tenants here?”

Taken aback, the man flexed his jaw before responding tentatively, “Wwwhy yes, my wife is offer’n two of our rooms for rent; she was hoping for more of a family with kids but I’m sure we can help you with your current predicament. Name’s Gilbert, Gilbert Jones.Ya’ll had supper yet?” he asked as he shook the former Jeep’s hand and scanned the weary group shaking their heads.

The old man chuckled, “Come on in and I’ll get the Mrs. and she can discuss rent with ya; she’s gotta stew on the burner that should be ready soon.” He hobbled on his cane to the door but balked in front of Onslaught and hastily adjusted his glasses with a wide gape. “Marc? Marc Willingham is that you? I don’t believe it, where have you been!”

The old man closed in, his smelly breath making Onslaught crinkle his nose in annoyance and glance nervously at his subordinates. With a subtle gulp, he raised his nose to the air, “I don’t know of this Marc you speak of, my name is..” Scrap what was that name. 

“Mr. Jones, this is Rory, our commander of our unit. That’s James, Tony, the one soaked in your lawn is Travis, and I’m Carlos,” chimed Swindle to the rescue.

The old man’s attention swiveled behind him, giving the officer some breathing space, “Military eh, wouldn’t happen to be the army?” They all nodded. “Swell, where are all ya’ll from?”

Brawl blurted before anyone could stop him, “Cybertron.” Swindle’s hand clamped over his mouth instantly. Gilbert merely scratched his chin thoughtly, “Okay, nice to meet you fellas.” The sound of jaws slamming to the floor rang on the porch.

He faced Onslaught and adjusted his glasses again, “Sorry about that Rory, I just got excited, you look exactly like my son-in-law. He was a Captain in the army rangers and you’re the spitting image of him.” He suddenly became melancholy and shook his head while directly gazing into Onslaught’s eyes and continued sadly, “But no, I see you can’t be, he has brown eyes, not as light like yours.”

With a shudder as if dispelling the gloom draping over him and in an upbeat voice, “Ya’ll come on in, can’t have ya on the porch like strangers if you’re gonna be staying with us for a while.” He yanked the storm door open for them but it broke off its hinges and clattered on the floor boards. “Pay no mind tah that, I’ll fix it later.”

The impression outside of the house vastly differed from the inside. It had a quaint, rustic charm about it and exhibited regular cleaning and maintenance. French plaid curtains framed the windows, autumn floral print furniture occupied the rooms, crocheted doilies on the coffee tables, and wood panel walls. The wife’s taste in decor would make any modern day city slicker break into a nervous sweat, let alone five, alien soldiers use to a barriack lifestyle. 

The entryway opened to a staircase on the right, with a dining room on the left, and the living room dead ahead. The kitchen connected to the dining room by a small doorway but linked to the living room through a bar window. 

“Naomi! We got some people interested in renting your two rooms, come meet em!” 

“What!?”

“Turn up your hear’n aid, ya got some folks from ah, ah, from Cincinnati interested in your two rooms!”

Onslaught was in the middle of snagging Swindle by the collar but the subordinate shrugged and mouthed ‘I don’t know’ as Gilbert offered them the seats around the dining table. An elderly, woman, adorned in a floral and lace apron, shuffled out of the kitchen with a shout, “Why that’s just wonderful, how many little ones do they………...have…” Her demeanor chilled several degrees as she took in the sight of them through her thick, lens glasses. “Gentlemen,” she tried to continue through gritted teeth but failed upon noticing the trail of mud from the front door to their boots residing under her dining table. The younger one soiled her chair cushion with contaminated water.

Her husband started again, oblivious to the tense air, “Dear, these fellas have had ah very bad mishap on the highway, their car caught on fire and they had to travel by foot all the way into town, on account that no one would give em a ride. The hotel is full with the festival and all, and they need ah place to stay for ah while.”

The woman’s expression seemed to soften at the mention of their destitution and disappeared back into the kitchen while muttering ‘poor dears’. She came back with a notebook and tray with five glasses of water on it, that she placed before them. As she hobbled into her chair at the head of table, she willed a sense of composure, “I do apologize of the cold shoulders you have received, but you won’t find that in this house. The good lord taught us how to be ‘good Samaritans’ and we shall do just so.” The five exchanged looks on what the slag she just said and what the slag they had gotten themselves into. The old man had retreat to his armchair in the living to resume watching his program.

“Now,” Naomi scribbled in her book, “I do have two rooms gentlemen, but only three beds, one king and a bunk bed, unfortunately two would need to share and one of you,” she glared out of the corner of eye at Swindle, “would have to sleep in the barn.”

Brawl shrugged his shoulders, “At this point I just want a place to recharge, barn doesn’t sound too bad.”

Naomi began the motion to protest but thought better and instead replied, “I don’t think I could put you through that much trouble deary, there should be some spare blankets and a pillow around here.”

She scribbled in her book further, “Now, how long will you be staying with us?”

Onslaught’s boot tapped Swindle’s leg again; the arms dealer perked in alert. “Well ah…. the…. tow truck needs to get our vehicle and assess the damage and the amount of time it will take. Could be a couple of days that we’re stuck here.”

“Oh? In that case I’ll charge by the day instead of a month, and for a little extra I can include meals.”

Swindle was about to protest when Onslaught’s heel pressed into his toes and gave him a stern nod. “That….sounds reasonable, meals sound good.”

“Splendid,” chirped the old woman as she passed the combaticons their invoice, “Now here is the first night and dinner, will that be cash or check?”

Vortex passed the sheet to Swindle who went white as a ghost, not that it was expensive, just the reality of losing money finally caught up with him. Onslaught dredged a card out of his pocket and slid it across the table to the former Jeep. 

Naomi shook her head, “No, no I don’t have anything to accept cards, cash or check.” Onslaught glanced back at his greedy subordinate who had yet to tear his forlorn stare from the document in front of him. A sharp kick seemed to do the trick. “Huh what?”

“She can’t take cards she said.”

Swindle tensed for a second, “Well, that’s all we have at the moment until I can access my account or an ATM tomorrow.”

Naomi cocked a brow; Onslaught passed the card further to her, “Hang onto it until we can get to the bank tomorrow. As a sign of trust and goodwill.”

She eye the card, “Then I would believe you would have no qualms about accompanying us to church tomorrow I presume?”

What the slag was a church! The combaticon leader chose his next words carefully. “I would prefer if we could rest and recuperate tomorrow.”

Naomi’s eyes narrowed, “You may rest in my house without us when I get my payment.”

The combaticon leader grimaced, this woman wouldn’t budge but whatever a church was couldn’t be too bad. “Your house, your rules, we’ll accompany you to church.”

Vortex passed the card to the elderly human who snatched it like a hawk and tucked it in her apron. Swindle glared at his leader like a kicked puppy, which in turn earned him another kick under the table.

“Well gentlemen that settles it, supper should be ready soon, the bathroom is down the hallway under the stairs, you can wash up and shower, does my husband need to help you caring in your bags?”

“Nah, we don’t have any, we lost everything we owned in the fire,” grumbled Brawl.

“We have the clothes on our backs and that debit card,” finished Swindle, hoping his glare would make the former tank shut up before leading them to major trouble. Vortex and Blastoff had the wisdom to stay silent during all of this. Their new land lady gave a soft gasp with a hand over her heart, “Oh you poor dears, had to escape a fire, lost all your belongings, and had to walk all the way here. Please, excuse me gentlemen while I make a phone call.”

The moment she disappeared into the kitchen Vortex snagged one of the glasses and downed the contents in two swallows before finishing off another glass on the tray. Brawl, Swindle, and Onslaught leaned over the table with the expectation that he would throw up like up like under the bridge. The tension hung in the air, like watching someone trying not trigger a booby trap by guessing the gold idol’s weight and replacing it with a bag of sand. A small hiccup escaped the interrogator; he gave a sloppy thumbs up before collapsing into the back of his chair and rolling his eyes into the back of his head.

Brawl grimaced at his glass as his leader and leg counterpart grabbed their’s and each gave a light sip. Their pupils seemed to dilate in an epiphytic state before chugging the rest. “Hmmm, it’s better than the river,” mused Brawl, wishing his cup would refill instantly. 

“Yeah, keep an eye out how she is getting it, I could use another,” Swindle glanced behind him to make sure they were out of earshot from the human couple. “Also, Brawl if you make another dumb statement like on the porch, you’ll get us alienated.”

“I would prefer if we were alienated from these humans, less interaction and prying into our business,” snorted Onslaught.

“Ideal in thought but we have to interact for shelter and refueling, and this is a small town, the residents probably know each other. If we act aloof or hostile they could gang up against us and spell trouble.”

Onslaught nodded in thought, “If that is the case, our problem stems from that not all in the team having superior lying capabilities.”

“Why are we whispering,” said Vortex, “I don’t think these people have very good hearing.” The three directed annoyed glares at him.

The arms dealer nervously drummed his fingers, “A trick with lying is to have one or two short and simple lies and only when you need them. Too many and you can’t keep your story straight; the more important thing to do is to tell the truth but not the whole truth. Truth is easier to remember and to be consistent.” All stared at him in puzzlement, except Blastoff who had succumbed to sleep and lightly drooled on the table with an arm propping his head.

“I’m serious, the only lie I have told is that our transportation caught on fire. Think, we did have to walk into town, we are in the army, you are our commander, and the only thing we have are the clothes on our back. They don’t need to know the details or context, they’ll make it up.”Onslaught reflected in astonishment while Brawl tilted his head in frustrated thought.

A shriek from the kitchen jostled them from their private conversation.“Papa! Where’s Joshlynn?”

“In the barn cleaning the stalls, she should be in soon, she’s probably hungry,” shouted from the living room.

“Go call her, dinner is ready, and she should meet our new guests,” Naomi reappeared from the kitchen with three more glasses and a pitcher of water. The sounds of moans, footsteps, and joints popping traveled out the living room and to the back porch. 

“Sorry about dearlies, our hearing isn’t what it use to be, we ain’t shouting in anger,” said Naomi as she refilled all the glasses and went back for a few bowls of stew. 

“Do you boys want crackers with yours?”

“Uhhhhhh sure, I uh, I have never had any with stew before.” Swindle casually nudged his head to indicate his teammates of another half truth instance.

“Never had crackers with stew before? I ain’t never heard that one and.. oh,” she cleaned her spectacles, “I could have sworn that pitcher was full of water and I had refilled your drinks. Guess my old mind is slipping.” She dragged the jug back to the sink while her guests tried to maintain their composure with cheeks full of water.

Blastoff jerked awake as the old woman nudged a bowl before him, Gilbert had returned and took a seat at the head of the table next to his wife, “Fellas, I’d like you to meet my one and only granddaughter, Joshlynn.” He gestured to the looming figure behind them, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. 

A tall, scrawny teenager, in tattered flannel with dusty, blonde hair in a messy half updo, glowered at them. Clenched in her hand was a brown akubra.

“Now Joshlynn, these folks came from Cincinnati and will be stay’n with us till their car’s been fixed from the fire they had. Make ‘em feel at home; they’re in the army so ya can probably relate to them since ya grew up on a base. Probably got a few crazy stories don’t ya, fellas?”

“Uh yeah, many crazy battles,” stuttered Brawl. Swindle gave him an encouraging grin.

Joshlynn glared at Gilbert as if he were a rabid skunk and reluctantly snatched the chair next to Vortex and sat as far away from him as the table leg would allow. An uneasy smile formed on Naomi’s face. “Well isn’t that nice, dear let us say grace.” She and her husband both bowed their heads and the old man began a string of foreign mummers and praises to someone they could not see in the room.

The five soldiers traded wide eyed stares at the bizarre practice. Swindle shook his head and mouthed, ‘I have no slagging clue’; Vortex shrugged as Brawl became more anxious. Once again Onslaught gave up trying to understand the situation, rolled his eyes, and made an attempt to mentally separate himself from everyone at the table.

But that proved difficult, something was watching him, those yellow eyes? No, just the teenager that sat diagonally across the table from him. He shot her an intimidating glare but she further narrowed her eyes and cracked her knuckles at him. He scoffed at her audacity. 

“Amen.” finished Gilbert, his smile slipped when he noticed his granddaughter’s stance. “Joshlynn, don’t stare it’s rude. I know what ya thinking, I thought the same thing, the resemblance is striking, but this is Rory. He is the commander of this group, “ he popped a spoonful of beef and carrots in his mouth. Joshlynn hadn’t broken eye contact and gave a low snarl at Onslaught.

“Joshlynn,” Naomi steered the exchange to a more appropriate dinner conversation,” how was your session with Pastor Keith?”

The girl quickly scooped chunks of potatoes and shoveled them in her mouth. “Mmm hmmmm,” she nodded, avoiding the women’s eyes.

“Good, what did you discuss?”  
The girl sped the number bites she shoved in her cheeks and shrugged, it was a wonder she could breath with how fast the silverware moved.

“Well if you’re not going to elaborate then introduce yourself to everyone.”

The granddaughter’s eyes shifted from side to side suspiciously. 

“That’s not necessary,” quipped Vortex, “we met earlier. She ran me over with her horse out on the prairie while we were trying to reach town.”

The woman’s jaw unhinged in a large gape; the girl choked on her meal. “Young lady, is this true?” she hissed. Her answer came in silence. The woman’s eyes narrowed, “Joshlynn, you didn’t even go to Pastor Keith’s today did you.”

“Mmmmmm mmm mmmm mmmmmmmmmmmm dinner is delicious grammie but I’m full,” said Joshlynn, the first time they had heard her speak.

“Joshlynn.”

“Well I better finish my homework and hit the hay, night!” She gave a loud belch and sprinted across the dining room and up the stairs.

“Joshlynn, young lady get back here!,” Naomi wiped her mouth with her napkin and hastily folded it, “I apologize gentlemen, please continue with your meal. Joshlynn, you get back down here right NOW!” Her hobbled footsteps reverberated up the stairs and loud banging against a wooden door rang upstairs.

“Welcome to the family boys,” grumbled Gilbert as he snatched his bowl and retreated back to his armchair in the living room and resumed his program.

They sat awkwardly bewildered at the table, the humans had been so preoccupied with their rebellious granddaughter, that they failed to notice that the combaticons hadn't even touched their food. Except Vortex, he happily munched as if nothing had transpired and nonchalantly grabbed Joshlynn’s bowl and began eating out of it after he finished his. “What are you guys looking at, she isn’t coming back for it. I’ve been starving all day, and it’s actually good.”

“How do you know what to do!"

“Simple, I watched the girl.”

Swindle tentatively took a bite, mulled it in his cheek, and happily began dunking two crackers at once in his; while Brawl skipped the spoon and reenacted feeding time at the zoo. Blastoff twirled his utensil clockwise in his bowl but ultimately chose to ignore the organic matter. It became more obvious as Vortex cautiously scooted it from out under his nose. The interrogator paused after he received a kick from Swindle but both cocked a brow when Blastoff didn’t react. 

“Hey Blasty, you hungry?”

“I’m fine.”

Vortex rolled his eyes, shoved the bowl back into Blastoff’s hands, loudly scraped a chunk of beef, promptly jammed it between the shuttle’s lips, and handed him the utensil. The navigator almost spat out the food but made a few chews before scraping his spoon in his bowl for another bite.

During all of this, Onslaught observed his subordinates’ bizarre behavior and Brawl’s gross habits, and reached for his utensil. Such an odd device to aid in refueling but his group adopted it like a seeker learning to fly after watching the younger human. The aromia permeating from the grub had a strong, savory feel that involuntarily made his torso grumble and mouth salvate. He was about to dip his spoon when he noticed Vortex watching with a toothy grin, “This’ll be good.”

Onslaught slammed his spoon down, “Can I help you with something?”

“No, just be sure to thoroughly chew your food, boss.”

The commander gave an unamused brow.

“It's not a liquid like energon, gotta use the bones on your jaw to tear it up.”

“I can see that, especially Brawl choking after inhaling his meal.”

“Well if you don’t want to stoop so low to eating like a human, you can give it….”

“You’re not getting my food Vortex,” said Onslaught sternly that made the interrogator sulk in his seat and face Blastoff, hoping the larger man would get full before finishing the bowl and he would get the rest. Their first time having a meal as humans made Onslaught grateful that the three humans had left the room, Naomi might have had a heart attack due to their table manners.

While energon could vary from sweet, tangy, and bitter, it had one consistency; the organic meal filling his cheeks produced a wild assortment of flavors and textures that assaulted his tongue and put his senses on overload. 

Meanwhile, Vortex had lost the fight over Naomi’s bowl with Brawl and now watched Onslaught’s like a dingo watching a human baby. 

~~~~~~

Naomi returned after they had finished their supper and any other unattended bowls. She seemed too flustered and agitated with her granddaughter to notice her missing soup. Instead she carried a pile of folded laundry and lead them to the hallway under the stairs. At the end sat the door to the bathroom; the doors to their two rooms lay adjacent on either side of it. The one on the left, intended for parents of a family, consisted of a king size bed, an antique vanity, and floral wallpaper. The kid friendly dinosaur wallpaper slowly peeled in the ‘children’s room’; which had a bunk bed and bookshelf filled with books ranging from beginner to highschool and an incomplete encyclopedia set. Brawl and Swindle frowned uncomfortably with the knowledge that Onslaught and Blastoff would get the other dwelling and that they would be stuck here with Vortex for a roommate; who at that moment called for top bunk.

From the pile of garments came a sleeping bag and pillow for Tony or Carlos; the rest were assorted pairs of what Naomi called pajamas that she found unused in her husband’s closest. She gave specific instructions that there should be plenty of towels in the bathroom cupboard for them, to leave their dirty day clothes in a pile in the hallway, and that she hoped they had a peaceful night before leaving them be. 

As soon as she had left, Onslaught whisked the door shut and pointed to the pile of pajamas. “What are we supposed to do with these?”

Everyone eerily and simultaneously turned to Swindle.

“Why do you keep relying on me. I don’t know, but those are clean and would feel better than this get up.”

“Well we’re stuck in this getup so deal with it.”

Vortex tugged on the front of his shirt and poked his nose in the collar. He could see the bare flesh of his torso and that the shirt merely draped over him, instead of being welded. He tugged on his pant legs and felt the fabric scape and shift along his skin and while snug against the waist, it wasn’t actually attached to him. “I think these things act similar to our armor, it covers us but isn’t part of our protoform.”

“If this is human armor, it sucks at defending from bullets and explosions,” said Brawl.

“I said it acts similar in that ‘it isn’t a part of us and can be removed’, I think this just offers minor cover from the outside elements and hides our undercarriage.”

“Hides our undercarriage?”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t run around in public back on cybertron in the protoforms, showing all your wires and capacitors?”

Brawl snorted, “Of course not! I’d punch you in the face plates for looking at me wrong but I’m not a creep exposing my circuit boards! Not like you!”

“You’re just jealous I have better hardware than you.”

Swindle at that moment grabbed his shoe and removed it and the sock from his extremity and waggled his toes at the ground assault warrior.

“Slag it Swindle! That is revolting, I don’t need to see that!” Snarled Brawl, glancing to the side as the offending appendage scooted closer to his face. 

“Just imagine how vile we all look under the rest of our clothes,” said Vortex in an eerie high pitched voice with a cheshire grin.

Blastoff uncomfortably squirmed and Onslaught felt his skin prickle up his spine.

Swindle rolled his eyes and strode over to the pajama pile and held a shirt up for size comparison., “Removing the articles on your pedes is fine if you’re not in public; however, the ones on your torso and lower extremities do in private. Now if all of you don’t mind, I call first on the shower,” as he left the room.

A sharp shriek omitted from the bathroom but nothing else followed until the vibration of rushing water rattled the adjoining wall. As the first showered, Vortex chucked the largest pair of sleepwear at Blastoff, who absentmindedly ran his fingers through the fabric. The three browsed through the pile, searching for prefered color schemes to their previous paint jobs. When their comrade returned, another took his place; Onslaught had made it clear his men acquired a shower first with him last to make sure his team were taken care. Secretly, he meant to postpone his, the adventures in his new body were unsetting already and a shower meant removing his garments and seeing more of this disgusting bag of flesh. 

As his subordinates filed and completed their exterior cleansing, Onslaught made a note that each time one of them entered the bathroom, a short screech or bellowing holler tore from the neighboring room. Except on Blastoff’s trip, instead multiple grunts, poorly pronounced cybertronian curses, and loud slamming echoed from the bathroom. Onslaught was just about to knock on the hall door, when a disgruntled figured shoved it open from the other side. Hair completely drenched, and shirt buttoned crookedly, Blastoff’s hobbled disorientedly to the other bedroom door and slammed it behind him. The only trace of proof that the event occured was the puddles connecting the two doors.

The oddities of the day refused to cease; Onslaught shook his head and pushed past the door only to catch a shriek in his throat and restain his arm from swinging at the stranger inside. But not quite a stranger, he knew him, but didn’t recognize him at first with his dark brunette hair peppered with gray, high cheekbones, and the presumption of five o'clock shadow. 

He waved a hand before him and the man’s mimicked the action; he pat his head, again so did the man. On closer inspection he could see bright amber eyes, almost the shade of gold, gaze right back at him. Well that explained Swindle’s, Brawl’s, and Vortex’s panicked screams earlier. The mirror just intensified the awkwardness of the situation, him did not need to see his nude form and to top it off, nothing like trying to figure out how someone else’s shower worked without feeling like an idiot. 

\-------------------------------------------------

Back in the ‘children’s’ bedroom, the yoke of Brawl’s loungewear tore as it attempted to contain his broad shoulders, thus making him appear as if he had settled down from an Incredible Hulk episode. 

“This sucks.”

Swindle muttered a muffled ‘yes’ from under the pillow planted on his face. Vortex sat above swinging his feet over the edge, “On the contrary, it’s not all bad.” The arms merchant peered from under his bunk in agitation, “I swear Tex, if you don’t stop.”  
“I hope Megatron gets fragged by a quintesson.”

The other two flinched, expecting waves of immense pain. Nothing happened and Vortex’s slag eating grin increase.

“No loyalty programming.”

All three pairs of eyes brightened and twinkled. “Frag decepticon headquarters and that silver tyrannical glitch!”

“Slag following orders!”

“I’d personally set the Nemesis on fire myself!”

“I declare mutiny!”

“Starscream already did that with us, may he have his spark torn out and have it shoved up Shockwave’s exhaust pipe.”

“May Megatron, Starscream, and Shockwave all get scrapped by the Autobots.”

“I am my own meche and don’t have to listen to ludicrous plans given by inept commanders.”

“THE LOYALTY PROGRAMMING MAY BE GONE BUT I AM YOUR COMMANDER AND YOU WILL FOLLOW ORDERS,” roared outside the bedroom door.

The three hunkered under their covers and emitted low chuckles and giggles; they indulged in their shared bashing of their fellow deceptions when they felt sure that ‘death’s’ presence had passed over them.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Those insolent glitches and their insubordination, one day he’d make them into real soldiers. Luckily the humans were upstairs in bed and the two elder ones had poor hearing so hopefully they didn’t hear his outburst. He rubbed his temples and dragged himself to the king sized bed. Blastoff snored through his mouth on top of the comforter; at least the navigator was on his side of the bed. Onslaught burrowed under the blankets and glared up at the ceiling. His body ached, if he got his body back he needed to delete the shower experience from his memory files; and, now the mutinous chanting in the room across the hall was on the rise again.

“KNOCK IT OFF YOU SON OF AH BITCHES,” shouted from the ceiling accompanied by stomping. Great, and the brat resided directly upstairs from him, at least she got them to shut up, for a moment. How had this happened to him, of course the role of the a commander had difficulties, but with this motley group and now unbelievable circumstances, no amount of officer’s school and training could provide him with help. 

Actually during his school days he dismissed most of his professors and mentors words as nothing more than elder veterans’ senile war ramblings. Somewhere in his memory resided a bit of wisdom or something they had said; some vital bit of evidence which eluded him but could help him weather through this.  
The more he sank in the soft pillow and mattress, the more his mind slipped into recharge; and, recharge promised freedom from all responsibilities, problems, and duties for tomorrow for the next several breems. He glanced at the window, maybe with a clear head tomorrow inspiration or a sliver of wisdom would come to him. As he drifted off, a faint yellow glow shined through the window, but disappeared as it traveled upward, then the roof creaked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Combaticons have finally found a place to rest, but what does tomorrow hold for them? Can they accept other organic functions, what is a church, can they survive under the same roof with humans, and what is wrong with Blastoff?! Found out in the next installment!
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you got a kick out of this, and as always reviews are never taken for granted.


	5. A Pit of Vipers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who causes more trouble for the combaticons, themselves or those around them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Cracks knuckles* Okay, now to the fun parts of our anti-heroes trying to blend in as humans. But small town folk never make it easy, how will they fare? Also for folks who have been asking what is wrong with Blastoff, finally the shocking conclusion!
> 
> Also some things I should clear up, I have this set after 'Aerial Assault' but they are in more modern times, I will also be making references to some of the comic books story arcs; and lastly my main view on this is that the combaticons did not know each other before Starscream freed them.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own transformers, Onslaught, Brawl, Swindle, Vortex, or Blastoff. But all of the human characters are of my creation based on people I have known, their view points do not reflect my own.
> 
> Thanks to my editors. Also special thanks to my hubby, who at times took the reins and wrote Vortex's scenes. It's almost as if he were........... *quickly stares out the window to the backyard and sees her husband digging a large hole next to a large bag* I'm sure he's just planting some flower beds for me.

A light with no origin cast its beam upon him and a five meter radius of the surrounding area. No matter how far he walked, the dark, black abyss of nothingness expanded in all directions; but he kept going. The indeterminable floor clanked softly as if metal struck it. With a pause he inspected his pedes, his servos tracing his helm, pauldrons, and missile backpack. He had his root form back! But where to the pit and back was he?. 

When he pressed forward something materialized in the distance, three shapes. As he cautiously approached, they revealed to be two chairs and a table supporting a chess board with pieces for one player. But the pieces didn’t resemble typical human chess pieces and for starters there were only four on the board instead of sixteen.

Each appeared to be a hand carved wooden miniature of a North American creature, and all were what seemed to be frozen in a scuffle. He identified the largest piece as a disgruntled elk rearing on its hind legs to avoid a mid swipe from a snarling grizzly bear piece. A jay miniature nestled uncomfortably in the elk’s rattled antlers while a raven figurine raised its wings behind the elk with its beak wide open as if screeching taunts. 

What kind of a chess game was this and what were the allowed plays for each odd piece? As if not to answer his question but baffle him further, the raven carving hovered above the other three and swooped in a figure of eight, its pose seemed to amplify its mock. A rumbling cackle snapped his attention to the chair across from him. A pair of disembodied yellow eyes glared back at him and bounced as if its invisible head bobbed from sneering laughter that shook from its body. The cackling crescendo and the sounds of knocking on wood joined in.

“GENTLEMEN, ARE YOU AWAKE?!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With a sharp gasp Onslaught’s eyes bolted open to greet the sunshine illuminating the bedroom. A knock rattled the door, “Hello? You boys up? Church is in an hour, I cleaned, ironed, and folded your laundry, it’s at the door. Get dressed and ready, we have jam and biscuits at the table,” came Naomi’s voice on the other side.

“Uh, yes we’ll be right out,” he stuttered while trying to filter what just happened and where he was while the elder woman screeched the same statement at the other bedroom door. He waited for her footsteps to echo down the hall before sliding out of bed and prying the door ajar like one would if they were expecting the mormons to bombard the porch. 

Blastoff and his clothes laid folded at his feet. Across the hall, the other bedroom door creaked open and an arm flopped out. It fondled and tested the laundry outside its door before it transformed into a wild claw, snatched the pile, and dragged the clothes into the bowels of the bedroom like a trap door spider. Not knowing of his subordinate’s morning behavior, the arm could have belonged to any of those three.

Blastoff barely stirred as Onslaught foisted the pile on his feet. The combaticon leader rattled the bed frame, nothing. Not even a loud and clear ‘attention’ command disturbed the navigator; odd, he would have never guessed Blastoff as a heavy recharger. Time to alter tactics that included physical force without getting too close. A quick search under the bed produced a wooden cane that he jabbed Blastoff in the rear like a child tormenting a large sleeping animal. “Get up!”

“Swear I wasn’t loitering!” The large man loudly muttered in a daze and violently flailed in a roll across the top of the bed, the comforter cocooning him. Another jab from the cane sent the newly formed blanket burrito floundering like a fish off the bed. 

“Blastoff, get up. Our landlady requires us to attend church with her.”

“James,” murmured the burrito.

“What?”

“Get use to the charade, we need to remain in character Rory.”

The combaticon commander snorted a scoff as the burrito struggled to rise but instead slammed his head into the night stand. The once graceful shuttle bumbled on the floor like a fat elephant seal.

“Pull yourself together Blast…...James, I’m going to change in the bathroom and I’ll let you have it next before the degenerates wreck it with their…” He had managed to step through the threshold of the bedroom door but slammed into something solid in the way. Two agitated brown eyes peered up at him.

“Can I help you,” Onslaught seethed at the young girl. The teenager stumbled to her feet without breaking her hundred yard glare in his eyes. Is this what she did all the time?

“I know your,” Onslaught paused. What was that term used to describe the relationship between the young and elder humans? “Your authority figures told you it’s impolite to stare.”

The frown she wore turned into a scowl, Onslaught’s brow arched in annoyance and crossed his arms.

“Come now, silent treatments after being addressed are considered impolite as well. I know you have the capacity to produce speech.”

His answer came in the form of a gruff snort as she pushed past him to enter the door frame. She pulled something from her back pocket and leaned over the threshold as if she were peering over a cliff. A whistle similar to when one wanted to call their dog emitted from her front teeth. Blastoff’s head poked over from behind the bed and stared cluelessly in the direction that sound came from. Joshlynn stretched out her arm and waggled the item, beckoning him to come take it. Blastoff made no inclination to Joshlynn’s presence and this prompted her to whistle again and erratically wave her arm.

“Yes, well if you don’t mind, we need to get dressed. I’ll be taking that thank you,” the combaticon commander snatched the article from her fingers and scooted her out into the hall before slamming the door in her face.

“Who was that and what did they want?” Blastoff asked as he managed to take a seat on the bed. 

“Hmm, uh that was the younger human that lives here.” Onslaught fiddled with the device she had tried to entice Blastoff with. It contained two glass lens bound in a wire frame. Upon unfolding two wings to either side, he realized it was identical to the contraption both elder humans wore on their faces. 

“So what did the mute juvenile want?”

Onslaught peered through the glass, “She was trying to present you something.”

Blastoff scoffed, “Present to me? As if it has anything acceptable to offer. I have you know…”

“Hang on, hold still for one moment,” he slid the wings over the navigator’s ears and perched the lens along the bridge of his nose.

Blastoff jerked his head back and madly blinked before wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Slag you look hideous!”

Onslaught gave him an irritated scowl.

“Really, have you not seen yourself?!”

“Yes I have had the misfortune, but have you not seen yourself? Please enjoy the moment when it’s your turn.”

Blastoff glared back down at his hands and ran his finger tips along the slashes on his palms. “I had hoped yesterday was a bizarre recharge sequence like what the humans call a dream. But just the odd taste of the food is something I could never have imagine. Even the eerie, over sensitive touch sensation threw me off with the blurry shapes of color. Thought Vortex had messed with my optics while in recharge.”

“Everything was blurry to you yesterday?”

“Like trying to stare out a window covered in heavy rain or thick ice. Or someone with poor motor skills attempting to recreate a Monet painting.

“Wait, wait Blastoff…”

“James.”

“Don’t start that to dodge this, you were unable to functionally see yesterday, and never mentioned it?”

A silent scowl answered him.

“Blastoff that was a stupid and dangerous move, we were lucky we reached this town alive. I need my soldiers in peak performance, we were depending on you yesterday to navigate us and instead you keep this to yourself, wandered aimlessly, and even manage to sustain some minor damage.” He indicated to the gashes.

The former shuttle scoffed, “I’ve had enough pestering from Swindle and Vortex on my form, I don’t need additional provocation from you.”

Onslaught crossed his arms and loomed over the man, his height and stature bearing down even though Blastoff could have easily stood over him if he chose to. “Any mech under my command is a vital member of my squad and when one is incapacitated, I need to know so he can receive help and so the other members can bear the load.”

Blastoff raised an eyebrow as Onslaught leaned forward and glared him in the eye, “I have no need for useless mechs, if you have a problem and don’t notify me and you hinder the team or become permanently incapacitated, I will replace you.”

“Replace me? I wish you luck in finding another decepticon that has a space travel altmode and is compatible with the Bruticus merging program.”

“I would prefer not to replace you, you are by far the most concordant and prudent when compared to the other three.”

“That’s not saying much and I’m a bit insulted that you’d compare them to me.”

“BUT, if it means protecting four lives compared to one, I will take those odds for the better of the team. You can be part of the team or struggle on your own. Also choose which you prefer: Vortex antagonizing you while blind or when you can see so you can have an accurate shot.”

Blastoff remained motionless in deep consideration while Onslaught attempted to exit the bedroom again.

“Rory, I mean Onslaught,” his commander paused at the door knob, “How did the girl know I needed glasses?”

Onslaught shrugged, “No clue, it just showed up at our door with them. To be truthful, watching it makes me think of Ravage in a way. You have no idea what the glitch is thinking about and can’t tell if it is scared of you or going to lash out.”

“I thought glitch was a name only reserved for Vortex.”

“Normally yes but this…. as you called juvenile seems to have something wrong with it, it keeps staring at me.”

“Hmmm, perhaps a form of PTSD?”

“I doubt it has had any military or combat experience to warrant that outcome.”

“Well I did hear the elder human remark that you look like its’ father. Perhaps it is merely confused”

Onslaught scowled at the sniper, “These creatures truly have the dumbest habits, it’s a wonder that they have survived this long in the universe at all. Also how do you know all of this?”

“You have me orbit the planet for hours or even days on end to spy or wait to eliminate a target; It’s not as thrilling as it sounds. I spend most of my time reading from this world's planetary data network to the point that I’ve exhausted all topics that interest me and now read whatever I can find to stave off the boredom.”

“I see,” pondered the decepticon leader but made another attempt to leave the bedroom again, only to be greeted by Vortex’s grinning face. “Hello fearle..,” a calloused hand gripped the front of Vortex’s shirt and yanked him up so he balanced on the tips of his boots.

“Blastoff errrr James, on second thought, you change in the bathroom first. I want to have a chat with Vortex here. 

The sound of bare feet casually strode behind him and to his left into the bathroom, followed by a startled hollar. He looked to see Blastoff frozen in front of the mirror, wide eyed and slowing stroking the stubble along his jawline with his finger tips. The sniper’s pupils shifted to focus on his leader’s gaze, who shot back a ‘get use to it’ look before dragging the interrogator into the bedroom.

“Oh please don’t be gentle Rory, I like it rough”

“Shut it you sick glitch,” he released the young man’s shirt. “I’m setting ground rules for you. I’ve been through enough slag already before being tossed in this body and so help me if you give me any more grief I will end you.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” asked Vortex, “Megatron would be quite displeased if he loses the ability to summon Bruticus because of your temper.”

“We can’t form Bruticus now, so it changes nothing. We don’t even know how or if we can get our original forms back and if I’m stuck in this form because of you, you will die as a fleshling,” he snarled in his underling’s face.

Vortex eerily remained still and quiet.

“Now, make yourself useful and find a way to contribute to the team. Can’t think of one, find me I’ll give you one. But, if you create trouble among the humans or start dysfunction among the team like you did yesterday, then I will terminate you myself.” He loomed over the interrogator, “That. Is. a. promise. Do I make myself clear?”

The interrogator stood with a poker face, “Who is this Vortex you speak of, he seems like a rad guy. By the way, the name’s Travis.”

“Vortex!”

“Jawohl mein führer!” He gave a mock nazi salute while walking backwards to the door.

“I didn’t dismiss you yet, get back here!”

“Toodles!” he grinned before swiftly exiting.

The former anti-aircraft truck clenched and unclenched his fists as the door slammed. He needed the other three’s optics to keep an eye on the glitch and he needed leverage or blackmail quickly to hold above the copter’s head. After having a chat with one and threatening to abandon the other two, they should start working in his favor. An agitated exhale escaped him as he locked the door and began digging out his teal shirt. Better to change in here without a mirror.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, from the dining room down the hall came the aroma of baked goods and coffee. The table, picturesque of southern hospitality, offered an assortment of sweet buttery biscuits snuggled in a warm basket next to jars of marmalade, jam, jelly, honey, and butter. A saucer of piping hot white gravy sat next to a plate consisting of fresh grapes, strawberries, and bananas; while a pitcher of ice water and a carafe of hot coffee sat by a cluster of mugs. 

Gilbert’s knuckles peaked out on either side of the Sunday morning edition at the head of the table, occasionally an old, withered hand reached out for a sip of columbian coffee or bite of his breakfast. His granddaughter sat at his right, her chair pressed as close to him as the table leg would allow. 

Occasionally glancing over at her new roommates, she was clearly uncomfortable with their fixated gazes. Apparently Vortex’s advice of watching her on the proper way to consume organic material had sunk in for Swindle and Brawl. Both had followed her example on their first biscuit but now Swindle seemed to take a sample of each condiment for tasting while Brawl slathered his pastry with as much strawberry jelly he could fit on it to satisfy his sweet tooth.

Blastoff had joined them at the table, but seemed hesitant to fill his plate. Only when the gurgling roar of his stomach announced itself at the table did he consider snagging a biscuit, a few strawberries, and a generous cup of coffee; but even then he stalled, obsessively scrutinizing his food and drink to the point that it became embarrassing and creepy. None of them dared to touch a banana out of fear of the unknown.

Joshlynn sat next to her grandfather with her eyes trained on her grammie in the kitchen careful to keep her houseguests in her peripheral vision. This was made more difficult when Vortex took a seat across from her. The decepticon bobbed his head side to side in debate before stuffing his biscuit with grapes and butter and pouring gravy on top to the point of drowning it and the plate. With a fork he stabbed the hodgepodge and stuffed all in his mouth in one bite. Joshlynn leaned forward in amazement, jaw slightly agape as Vortex attempted to hold back tears as his mouth burned. 

“What are you, a garbage disposal?”

Vortex tipped his head back and swallowed like a bird getting a drink, the mass of food visibly sliding down his throat like a gerbil crawling through a straw. He exhaled the heat with a choke before replying, “No a garbage disposal would have stuffed more on their plate, I’m a helicopter.”

Silverware and plates clanked as the table jolted from a kick from below. Vortex turned to glare at Swindle, only to meet a look of the same caliber. “Helicopter pilot, “hissed Swindle, “Stop trying to confuse her you weirdo.” The interrogator scowled and returned fire at the decepticon merchant’s legs. Rapid stomping and squeaking boots bellowed under the table between the two, Joshlynn turned to Brawl for an explanation but the former tank seemed unfazed and was in the middle of creating a dagwood sandwich out of biscuits, jam, and strawberries. Gilbert and Blastoff sipped their coffee, oblivious to the ruckus rattling under the dining table.

Onslaught marched down the hall towards them and took a seat at the foot of the table; a gruff grumble in his throat made Swindle freeze and innocently twiddle his thumbs. A boot heel jabbed the merchant’s calf as Vortex gave him a victory grin. The combaticon commander shook his head with a groan and turned his attention to his left at Brawl. “How can you be eating again?”

The heavy weapons expert paused with an ashamed look. Vortex groaned, “Come on Ror, we’re not out in the field or on duty; there is plenty of food so we don’t have to stick to rations. Remember, three square meals a day” The former copter slid the pastry plate down the table. Onslaught grimmanced at the thought of having to continue consuming organic matter to function, also he questioned Vortex’s last statement and where the copter had heard that. It was also at this moment said instigator noticed Blastoff’s new look, “Hey shuttle butt, how many channels do those things pick up?” Blastoff’s eyes narrowed with his scowl as he nursed his mug of coffee and adjusted his glasses but made no other move.

Naomi dottered in from the kitchen doorway in a freshly ironed Sunday dress, clutching her purse in front of her. “Oh my, don’t you all look…….presentable.” She caught herself with an uneasy smile at the sight of Brawl licking the jam from his fingers like a five year old. Her looked quickly transformed into a frown at her granddaughter. “Joshlynn, I thought I told you to get dressed for church young lady.”

The corner of Gilbert’s newspaper lowered just enough for his right eye to peer over at the scene. “Seriously Joshlynn, we are going to the Lord’s house, show some respect.” 

The teen leaned back in her chair and dramatically waved at the decepticons at the table.

“Young lady! Do not be so disrespectful, they don’t have a choice and have nothing else to wear, you on the other hand have no excuse!”

Joshlynn groaned and marched to the coat rack at the front door and snatched a colorful woven poncho that almost covered down to her knees. 

“No, I ironed a dress that I ordered for you in a catalog just for this occasion.”

“Come on grammie, this a designer poncho and my nicest one. Ain’t no one else gonna know what I’m wear’n underneath it, unless they’re a nosy sicko.”

Naomi scowled, “God will know, also this attitude of yours lately is going to cost you some privileges. You can only drive the truck when taking us to church, you can walk or ride your bike to school; and, you can only ride Bonita in the paddock or cattle pasture. No more distant exploring.”

“That’s not fair to the horse, she needs exercise.”

“Those are our rules young lady.”

The teen gave a loud growling whine before snatching her akubra and truck keys while storming out the front door. Naomi scowled at the door but quickly huffed to her composed self. “Sorry, now gentlemen I hope you enjoyed breakfast but we must be on our way. Punctuality is a virtue.” She smacked her husband in the shoulder with her purse as she shuffled by; the elder man jerked in surprise but snatched his jacket to chase after her. 

“Could we finish breakfast?” asked Swindle. 

The old woman shot him a stern glare that prompted a ‘move out’ from Onslaught. As the five rose to join the humans, Vortex and Brawl hustled to filled their cheeks and pockets with the rest of the biscuits. 

~~~~~~~

The white, pristine, and well maintained building from yesterday turned out to be this so called church. From the pickup bed, they watched a large crowd congregate in the parking lot near the entrance. Onslaught chalked another tally to his score that humans were stupid. If the humans regularly flocked to this building and if held a great importance to them, why paint it such a distinctive color so easy to bomb from a distance?

The five men had expected some observance of human customs in introductions and socializing, but none were mentally prepared for the clucking gossip amongst the fellowship and Mrs. Jones’s lips. The inhabitants of the quiet town buzzed with nosy questions of the new comers and their military service to the point that the five of them huddled in a defensive formation and cornered themselves on the last row to avoid the barrage of human interactions. Onslaught sat at the edge of their blockade, in an effort to deter any conversations away from them. If any of them had to scare off a nosy human, as the leader, it was going to be him. He was at least tactful. 

Naomi had followed them and shoved her granddaughter next to him to save the remaining seats between them and the aisle. “No hats inside,” she warned and snatched the akubra as she dragged her hapless husband back into the fray. To Onslaught’s surprise the girl made a nice buffer between them and the plebeians. He watched repeatedly as one of the other church members would approach them; they would grimace or groan with a shake of their head when they saw the teen and would leave. After the fifth snooper retreated he could see her brown irises peering out of the corners of her eyes, only to quickly snap forward and glare at the podium on the stage.

But the surreal experience didn’t end there. After pleasantries were exchanged and the gaggle of homo sapiens found their seats, a withered old man in black suit took center stage and lead the room in worship to an entity that they yet again could not locate in the room. This was followed by more praise in song form where the whole room grabbed a book and rose at his command and sang in a hodgepodge of off key cries with a badly tuned organ. Blastoff and Swindle surprisingly could comprend the leaders instructions with the book and attempted to blend in with the masses. This went poorly on their part as Swindle seemed to read instead of sing and while Blastoff had virtuosic skill, his face paled and his voice falter as it dawned on him exactly what the lyrics were meaning. Vortex curiously peered at the hymn book while this was going on; Brawl and Onslaught quietly stood at a parade rest. 

Next the elder leader had his esteemed followers pass out trays of crackers the size of a fingernail and miniature cups of wine. As the trays made their way to their row Naomi leaned over Joshlynn and whispered to them, “Have you boys been baptized?”

Onslaught was taken back by the question and quickly scanned the other combaticons for an answer, Swindle frowned and shrugged. “No.”

“Oh, that’s too bad, I hope someday you boys find your way,” she helped herself to the contents of the trays and passed a cracker and drink to Joshlynn before having Gilbert send the trays back the deacons. 

“This is the body of christ, broken for you, eat and remember! And this is the blood of christ, drink and remember the sacrifice he made for your sins!” shouted the preacher.

Vortex’s jaw dropped in astonishment, “Whoa, whoa, are they just cannibalizing some dead guys remains just now?” Luckily the call back from the choir drowned out his response except for his comrades ears, and one disgruntled teenager. Blastoff whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “Keep your voice down and do not offend these people, I have a feeling it will get ugly fast.”

“What do I need to do in order try some of those remains?”

“It’s not the actual remains, it’s suppose to be symbolic.”

“Symbolic? How would you know?”

“I read a lot of this planet’s culture in my spare time and I, and I would bet good money on Onslaught, do not want to tangle with this group if things go sour. For the love of Primus, behave.”

Vortex grumbled and shot Onslaught a dirty glare for missing out on acts of cannibalism.

~~~~

“Is he done yet?” muttered Brawl out of the corner of his mouth. Onslaught answered him with a swift elbow to the ribs. The former tank had cost them the image of model citizens earlier due to him falling asleep out of boredom five minutes after the sermon started and releasing a massive snore. They had been forced to sit on the stiff pews for the past hour and a half while the preacher ranted on stage and made accusatory finger gestures.

Brawl was on the verge of dozing off again; Blastoff and Swindle were flipping through a thick book that had B-I-B-L-E on the cover. Onslaught had no idea what the pages contained but the more those two read from it the more their faces’ contorted in disgust or discomfort. Strangely Vortex seem interested in the rambling human’s message as he leaned forward in keen interest, his eyes sparkling in delight. 

Onslaught’s stomach lurched uneasily at the sight of him and he refocused his attention to the humans in the sanctuary who were all listening just as attentively. The sermon that the preacher screeched held little interest to him but the fact that his followers held onto every word and accepted it as life and law amazed him. The lecture didn’t even feel kind, more like threats and promises of harm. How could this fleshbag convince these people to follow him or this deity? Was it fear, making examples out of those that disobeyed, similar to Megatron’s method? Could this being even be appeased?

Mr. and Mrs. Jones solemnly nodded in agreement as the rant continued to repeatedly mention the term hell. The only human not paying attention was the teenager uncomfortably seated next to him. She too had a B-I-B-L-E in her lap but had secured the hem of her poncho on her knee; making it billow like a loose sail from the collar to her lap. Thus casually obscuring her grandmother’s view of the book and the gameboy color secretly perched on top of it.

Joshlynn flinched as if struck with a blast of cold water and glared up at him. When her pupils locked onto his, she cautiously slid the console under the book and furrowed her brow. As if sensing the hostile energy, Naomi snapped out of her trace and peered over at the two before peering over the pocho barrier. Upon seeing the holy book, she smiled and nuzzled her granddaughter before submerging herself into the sermon again and nudging her husband if she missed anything. 

Clever girl, although this felt all too eerily familiar of an incident with Vortex during a squad meeting in which he caught the copter perusing a porn magazine he had hidden in a fusion cannon user manual. After just witnessing the scene before him, Onslaught now had a sneaky suspicion that even after the occurrence and punishment; it wasn’t enough to stop the glitch and that he had probably altered his tactics to something more elaborate to avoid detection. 

“But remember everyone, despite the fact that we are all terrible sinners and don’t deserve salvation, GOD loves you and wants what’s best for you. Your verse for the week is Ephesians 5:15-16, practice it well!” finished the pastor as the fellowship began to gather their belongings and make for the exit from the stuffy building.

Vortex jumped over the back of the pew nonchalantly as he left his teammates at the mercy of the second round of questioning; Joshlynn grinned and followed suit despite the frowns from everyone. Mr. Jones seemed to have reached his limit of socializing and lead the others with him; Mrs. Jones did the opposite and went deeper into the church. 

While the atmosphere inside was suffocating from too many people, the outside had the sweltering, midday sun. The group’s shoes scrapped the pavement as they approached the truck. Vortex layed on top of the pickup’s cab, fiddling with his cell phone for signal while Joshlynn sat in the driver’s seat with the windows up despite sweat beading her forehead.

A loaded, black trash bag caught Brawl off guard as it was thrusted into his arms. “What in the world?” A stout, middle aged woman with a wide grin appeared from behind it with another full trash bag in hand that she tossed to Swindle, only for it to knock him completely off his feet. Blastoff cocked a brow at her and the timid woman with mousy brown hair and glasses that handed him a loosely packed sack before she shyly retreated to her car.

“Ah thank you ladies,” chirped Namoi as she dottered over with the pastor. “Gentlemen, this is Yevette and Sophia, they are in my book club and bible studies. Last night after you mentioned that you had lost your belongs I called them and told of your destitution and they went around town asking for clothes donations.” She beamed brighter, “No need to thank me, just doing the Lord’s work!” 

“Truer word have never been spoken Mrs. Jones and I know the Lord is pleased and smiling down on your work. My he continue to bless your family.” 

“Oh deary me, gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to Pastor Keith. Keith this is James, Tony,” her voice faltered with a hint ice, “Carlos, and Travis.” Keith gave them a humble nod. “And this is their unit leader Rory who keeps them in line.”

Keith reached forward to shake Onslaught’s hand with a wide grin, “A great pleasure to meet you sir, it is good to meet the fine men who fight to defend this country from our enemies. We need good leaders to command the military to fight for freedom and our beliefs. You and I have quite a bit in common.” Onslaught felt a twinge of agitation prickle across his shoulders and slightly tensed as he shook the elderly man’s icy fingers.

”Ah yes yes,” Keith nodded and chuckled, “While you are overseas in foreign lands fighting’ I am here leading the good christian soldiers to protect our home and upkeep the nation’s morals.” He continued to absent mindlessly shake the decepticon commander’s hand.

A twitch of the corners of Onslaught’s mouth threatened his stoic disposition as he seethed at the human’s audacity to compare them or even to think itself was a real leader. The other combaticons observed with interest with how this would play out. Onslaught snapped his wrist to break off the shake, “Well I shouldn’t keep you from your work.” 

Keith gave a light hearted laugh, “Oh no bother at all, I would very much enjoy discussing with you what the military plans to do to those heathens overseas.” He knocked on the driver’s window and waved at Joshlynn; she nodded an acknowledgement but made no effort to roll down the window. “Hello Joshlynn, sorry to hear you couldn’t make our first appointment but your grammie and I rescheduled, I’ll see you soon!” 

“Oh she will,” chirped Naomi, “It’s so good of you to offer to help her with her trials and any inner demons that are giving her trouble.”

“Not at all, we all need help, and through Jesus the healing can begin. Now I heard Cave has been kind enough to open the bank on a Sunday so your tenants can pay so I won’t keep you any longer.” He stood smiling and waving as they exited the parking lot.  
Blastoff, Brawl, and Swindle gave Onslaught a wide berth to avoid his icy demeanor that radiated after the exchange with the pastor. Vortex, either oblivious or indifferent to the current situation, remain fixated on the cab’s occupants; particularly Joshlynn’s trembling hands on the steering wheel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What passed for downtown on a Sunday afternoon seemed even more deserted than last night, only a car and truck sat in the street. The ford ranger rattled to a halt, Naomi hopped from the cab with Swindle following her. Onslaught motioned Blastoff to join.  
“Come on, you’re going in with us.”

“No, I’d rather not.”

Onslaught grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and whispered darkly, “You’re going in with us, you mentioned that you’ve read about this planet’s culture and I saw you read that book back there. I want you to make sure he doesn’t pull anything.” 

The navigator made no further protest but grimaced in self pity as they entered the Farmers and Merchants bank.

Mr. Johnson, the bank owner stood before the front counter with his hands behind his back, “Gentlemen, let's get your transaction underway and then we can go back to enjoying our Sunday evening.”

Swindle activated his professional act, “Oh we won’t trouble you, if you’ll just point us in the direction of you ATM we’ll be on our way.”

Mr. Johnson’s annoyed demeanor melted into a hearty laugh, “ATM?! I wouldn’t be caught dead with an ATM in my building. No, no machine is going to replace a hard working American from their job. Those things just destroy the client-business relationship. I won’t have that done to the people of this town.” He shook his head as he scoffed. His teller rolled her eyes behind her rhinestone, cat eye frame glasses and twiddled her pearl necklace.

“Cave,” soothed Naomi as she passed the card she kept overnight to the teller, who’s eyebrows shot over the rim of her glasses upon seeing the bank the card was with, “I know this goes against what the good book says but I really appreciate this, I really need this payment.” 

The bank owner gave an annoyed sigh, “Let’s just get this over quickly, also step into my office, I’d like to discuss with you the latest account you open with us.”

A metallic pen rapped against the counter at the three combaticons. “Which one of you is Carlos Haymer?” She tapped the name on the card with her long, ruby red nails. 

The two taller men pointed down at the shorter one who she sized up with a scrutinizing half seductive gaze. “Alright Mr. Haymer, how much are we withdrawing?” she purred.

Swindle swallowed a lump in his throat, “Uh, could you check the balance?”

“Sugar I can check anything, call me Carol.”

Swindle awkwardly rolled forward and back on his feet and glanced back at his two teammates as she accessed the account. The further she delved, the more her eyes grew like dinner plates, “Oh my, woof.”

“CAROLYNN! Get in here, my computer is not responding. It’s acting like a passive-aggressive girlfriend,” shouted Mr. Johnson from his office.

Once the teller slammed the office door shut Onslaught and Blastoff leaned on either side of Swindle’s shoulders. “How much is in that account?” The decepticon merchant peered over the monitor screen, “Enough for us to buy this town out right; but…. we can only use what we absolutely need.”

“Only what we need?” Said Blastoff in disbelief. “Or only what you could possibly stand to lose a day you greedy motherboard fragger!”

“No, only what we need, remember what I said last night about lying? Lesson two, if you lie you have continue with that course to keep up with appearances. Thanks to Brawl last night saying we lost everything in the fire and giving the impression that we are destitute; it’s going to look real suspicious if it suddenly turns out that I’m actually rich.”

The commander and sniper both scowled down at him, “You mean ‘we’re rich.”

Swindle returned fire with a murderous glare of equal caliber, “I mean, we need to get jobs.”

Onslaught’s eye angrily twitched and a vein in Blastoff’s temple pulsed.

“Look, all things considered, we have a good thing going for us. We have shelter, our landlady is provided our meals so we don’t have to shop or cook, and we just got a bunch of free clothes that saved us from the experience of having to shop for them. Also we don’t know how long we’ll be stuck as humans, but some work experience wouldn’t kill us if this turns out to be long term, and it’ll be easier to obtain employment here than a large city because we don’t have a car and we can’t buy a car because of Brawls fat mouth.”

Onslaught growled, “I don’t like this, it sidetracks us from our real mission of obtaining our true forms back.”

“Well inorganic forms, I had yet to obtain my true original form since being freed from the detention center,” groused the former shuttle who quickly buttoned his mouth when he noticed the looks that promised to harm him.

“As I said, I don’t like this as it sidetracks us but as much as I hate to admit it, Swindle’s logic is sound,” he sighed.

“Don’t blame me, blame Brawl who can’t keep his big mouth shut,” reminded Swindle.

~~~~~~~

Currently, said decepticon sat in the pickup bed with Vortex, receiving the full experience of what it felt to be a slice of bacon in a skillet. Even after his nap in the chapel, the heat made him feel lethargic and sleepy and he felt himself drifting off despite the bright sun beaming in his face. Vortex drummed his fingernails on the vehicle’s side, disrupting Brawl. 

“Do you mind? I'm trying to get some recharge.”

“I don't like it here, all these people talking about us it's like they are up to something.”

The heavy weapons expert allowed one eye to open in a slit, “What, you think we’re going to suffer an attack from church people?”

“Remember TONY, all of these “church people” are followers of that iniquitous reverend in there. Did you see how his followers held onto every word? If he really knew what we were he would snap his fingers and send most of this town after us.”

“They’re just trying to figure us out, its a wasteland out here and we are probably the first NEW things to show up in some time”

“If they want something new and fun they should go read a book.”

Brawl frowned at him with scrutiny, “As if anyone would read for fun.”

“There's something else, and the kid chauffeuring us around could give us some insight, I don’t think she likes that crypt keeper either.”

The whine of a two stroke engine rang across the street in the town square’s playground that contained a metal merry-go-round. Four teens surrounded it with a dirt bike. Two were fiddling with the bike, one angled the rear tire to line with the rim of the merry-go-round’s bottom plate while the second held it steady and gripped the throttle. The burliest, adorned in a football jersey, barked orders at the bike handlers and egged the fourth that had snaked his arms and legs around one of the handle bars.  
The engine squealed to life, the rear tire kicking against the rim with a plume of smoke. Faster and faster it spun, until the boy on it became a green blur and produced high pitched screams that blended with the leader’s laughter. Suddenly the green blur launched across the playground and struck head first into one of the swingset’s support poles with a spray of red. 

The boy controlling the throttle swiftly dragged the dirt bike to its wheels and sped off, his partner ran to his buddy writhing in the mulch and screamed, “His front teeth are gone! What we do, what we do!” Their leader groaned and began kicking his injured friend in the ribs shouting, “Don’t be a fucking baby, stop crying you pussy!”

“Yeah, you know what, scratch that, I don’t think we should be too concerned, they’re really not that smart. I would bet most of them don’t even know how to read.”

~~~~~~~~

Back in the bank, the squabble among the three combaticons continued to flow through the Kubler-Ross model of grief with Swindle depressingly accepting the circumstances that even if they found jobs, he was losing money each day they were humans. Onslaught while agitated with the terms of their current situation and that they would have to seek out employment, had accepted it, but that didn’t mean he liked it. Blastoff looped repeatedly through three stages at once ranging from anger at the thought of having to perform manual labor, bargaining to get himself out of having to stoop so low as to finding human employment, which lead to utter depression that he indeed would have to do manual labor only to cycle back to cursing Brawl out with every fiber of his being.

“Blast...James settle down before you make a scene.”

“Me?! Me making a ruckus that would warrant us into embarrassing and uncomfortable situations! How about we muzzle Brawl to permanent silence, then our predicament would be much nicer. Also remember you dragged me in here to make sure HE,” pointing a finger at Swindle, “didn’t pull any thing and while I tried to help you, you instead take HIS side.”

“I did not take his side, the proposed current course of action makes logical sense, I don’t like it anymore than you do but in order to maintain our cover we have to make sacrifices.”

“Frag that, let’s go to another town and start over!”

Swindle muttered, “Drama queen,” just barely audible.

“Bla...ahhhhhh James we can't go to another town, we’d have to waste our time procuring a decent vehicle, which I doubt this town has to offer, or hitchhike and after yesterday's incident I'm not too keen on that option either.”

“Well you might consider it further because even you are on the verge of blowing our cover because you can't keep our aliases straight!”

“I was trained in covert ops, not espionage, this is not part of my job description!”

“Just grasping the basics of putting on an act would do you a world of good!”

“Oh do forgive me that I skipped acting classes while in officers school, in hindsight I didn't know that a superfluous lesson be so important while undergoing the gestalt leader programing!”

“SUPERFLUOUS?!”

Swindle scuttled in between the two, “Guys drop your voices or take this outside, our land lady may have poor hearing but the other two can probably tell you're having an argument.”

Onslaught and Blastoff both snubbed their noses at each other and huffed. Swindle stood awkwardly between them, “I can handle things here, go hang out in the pickup bed so we don't make a scene.” Both growled at him and he sheepishly grinned, “Or not.”

Ten minutes later Carol finally returned grumbling under her breath at her boss's repeated inability at understanding that his computer was ten years outdated so it was prone to freezing; and, that there were multiple programs to choose from, even Microsoft excel, that were a more accurate tool than his abacus. 

“Carlos,” she eeked out while trying to return to her professional self, “I apologize where were we?”

Swindle reached in his pocket to procure the invoice and felt something thin and flat against the folded paper. Odd, he ignored it and withdrew the paper and grimace upon realizing that it had not withstood its encounter with the washer. Fortunately the sum was somewhat legible and he passed it over to her. “I’d like five times the amount of what’s written here.”

Naomi shuffled from Mr. Johnson’s office with a distant, concerned look on her face as Carolynn counted and transferred the bank notes to Swindle’s palm. “Now remember Mrs. Jones, “chided Mr. Johnson, “You may not reach your targeted amount but it will be better than nothing and next year you and Joshlynn can sit down with me and we can discuss loan options.”

The old woman vacantly nodded and walked over to her tenants and suddenly zeroed in on the dollars bills and out stretched her hand. Swindle glanced at it and back to his, “Oh right, what we owe last night and for today since we will be here for a while longer till our car is fixed.” He religiously counted the amount, not one over, before reluctantly passing it forward. Naomi grabbed the other end and tugged but Swindle’s thumb would not release.

“Would you just pay her already!” snapped Blastoff.

Swindle jumped in surprise, his fingers loosen. The old woman’s sour mood melted away into a beam a she tucked the money in her purse. “That’s quite alright dearies, you stay as long as you like,” she dottered out the exit, Onslaught herded them to follow her. Carolynn twiddled her pearls as they went, watching one particular individual. 

“Well he sure didn’t want to lose any of that,” chuckled Cave as he stood behind her, “but that’s probably most of his paycheck.”

“Oh, to contrair,” she cut his laughter short as she rotated the monitor, still containing the combaticon’s account, to face him. The bank owner began to stutter and foam at the mouth. “Alllllll those...those….zeros?! If I’d have a client like that business would..”

His teller gave a snub chuckled, faced the exit, and mused to herself, “I think it’s time I tried fishing again.”

“Fishing? Carolynn I didn’t know you knew how to fish, you don’t strike me as the outdoorsy type.”

Carolynn peered up through the rims of her glasses, “Oh, I’m just full surprises.”

“Are you, well tell you what if you can convince that fella, whatever his name was.”

“Carlos.”

“Carlos, if you can convince Carlos to open an account with us and invest half of what is in this to ours, there would be a nice promotion in the works.” He pat her on the shouldered as he returned to his office. She mused further, ‘Well if I can’t land a big one, I can fall back on a promotion.”

~~~~~~~~~

Onslaught snatched the remaining dollar bills and card from Swindle and tucked them in his breast pocket before loading the rest of his men. They all sat eerily silent as the truck pulled out and chugged down the road until Onslaught cleared his throat, “Our financial situation is stable, but due to a certain lie one of us said last night to the humans we have given the impression that we are destitute. Therefore, we will have to keep up appearances with this lie and cannot procure vast amounts of currency or purchase a car to leave town.”

Vortex quirked a brow at him, “Slag Onslaught what did you say to them last night?”

The decepticon commander shot an annoyed glare, “Don’t thank me, thank Brawl.”

The former tank shriveled as four pairs of hostile eyes landed on him.

“On top of keeping with this lie, we all need to find employment.”

A chorus of groans and whines echoed from the group.

“We will discuss this further privately in one of the rooms when we get back,” snarled Onslaught who just happened to catch the teenager staring at him through the rear view mirror, only for her to snap her eyes back on the road.

~~~~~~~

As the combaticons seemed to settle in their own dejected, personal bubbles, Swindle reached back into his pocket to the unknown item that had been with the waterlogged invoice. He rubbed his thumb over a side and felt the indent of numbers in a row and it took all his willpower to try not to grin giddily in front of his gestalt mates. 

‘So called genius my aft, Ons you stupid, fragging idiot. Good job so far at keeping track of all those cards last night.’ He twiddled in his pocket the card Onslaught had handed him last night before they had found the hotel. ‘With this baby, I can get some cash and hitchhike to the next town, maybe find a decent vehicle, and put as many miles as I like from the lot of them, and start up my own business. Hmmm maybe a casino, and then I can report the rest of my cards as stolen and close all but my one cellphone account and leave them high and dry. They’ll never find me!’

There were certain lines that were never meant to be crossed, such as tugging on Starscream’s cape, criticizing Scrapper’s artwork, or asking Laserbeak if she wanted a cracker. Then there was messing with Swindle’s finances, which could be considered similar as to stealing a tungsten-turkey leg from a passive aggressive hellhound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really am looking forward to writing this next chapter.
> 
> Thanks for all the lovely reviews, I love hearing that all of you are having some laughs and enjoying this wild ride! Till next time!


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